


A Visit From the Zoldycks

by ohofcourse



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blood and Violence, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Murder, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Torture, Uneasy Allies, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25468990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohofcourse/pseuds/ohofcourse
Summary: Illumi appears at Hisoka's door one day in the hopes of avoiding his parents until he can kill them. Domesticity ensues.
Relationships: Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck
Comments: 202
Kudos: 1760





	1. A Knock on The Door

Someone was knocking on Hisoka’s front door. The sound was nearly drowned out by the gurgled purr of his coffee machine. He cocked his ear and listened. It came again. 

It was an odd time of day for a delivery. Besides, Hisoka had told the doorman upon moving in that visitors were expected to call on the intercom before they came up. 

With a cursory reach of his nen, Hisoka could tell there were two people outside of his door, but beyond that, he found little information. They were expertly hidden. 

These people were lucky that Hisoka had woken up so early. A book he had been reading had informed him that waking up early and exercising were both steps on the way to bettering one’s self, and he had been told, many times, by many people, that he desperately needed some betterment. 

“Hello,” Hisoka said cheerily, swinging open his front door. He prudently fingered three cards in the waistband of his pants, in case these guests turned out to be intruders. He didn’t think so. Attacking him in his own apartment was like crawling face-first into a badger’s den with your eyes closed. Probably a poor idea. 

As the door fully opened, Hisoka saw white and then black. Zoldycks. Two of them. The dame and the sire. 

Hisoka only recognized them because they had been on his radar. Since he and Illumi had worked together on the Hunter exam, he had been keen on fighting the Zoldyck father. Hisoka was tempted to fight Illumi, too, but he wasn’t so stupid as to ruin an alliance like theirs. Other, less logical feelings may have also played a part, but he didn’t address those. 

“Good morning,” Hisoka said, because they hadn’t yet. The mother was wearing an electronic visor over her eyes and her mouth was pinched like it had been sewed shut. 

_ Kikyo _ , his brain supplied. Silva, the father, took up most of the entrance, which was impressive because the entrance was made up of double doors. His mouth turned down at the edges, quite the opposite to Hisoka, who was smiling his perpetual, toothless smile. Silva’s white hair fell in wavy locks around his face. He looked nothing like Illumi. It bothered Hisoka. 

The reason why was probably not important. 

“We are looking for Illumi,” Silva said. He had a deep, loveless voice. Hisoka could simply not imagine the dry, flat-edged conversations he and Illumi had. 

“We know you and him worked together. You took the Hunter Exam as partners,” Kikyo added tremulously. There was a franticness to her that Hisoka recognized in Illumi. Though, in fairness to Illumi, he disguised it with pin-straight, too-perfect hair and the voice of an AI movie villain. 

“Illumi was a lovely ally, yes,” Hisoka said, smiling still, eyes crinkling until his lashes furred his vision. 

“He’s lost,” Silva said. Hisoka wanted to laugh, but he only felt bad. They thought  _ Illumi  _ was lost? Did they even know him? 

“Lost?” Hisoka asked lightly. 

“Missing! Gone!” Kikyo nearly shrieked. She leaned forward into the doorway, the visor covering her eyes beeping wildly. “I know you know where he is!” 

“Kikyo,” Silva said darkly. Hisoka wondered absently if anyone had ever gathered so much leverage over the Zoldyck family so easily.

At this point, he wasn’t even trying. 

And he was winning. 

“I don’t know where Illumi is,” Hisoka admitted. 

“But you know his phone number,” Kikyo said, drawing her thin shoulders in together. 

“You don’t?” Hisoka asked, an incredulous smile curling his mouth. Silva scowled. 

“We only have his work number.”  _ They didn’t have his phone number?  _ Hisoka was pretty sure  _ Gon  _ had Illumi’s phone number. Hisoka had pestered Illumi many times over before the assassin relented and wrote his number in tiny neat lettering on his wrist. 

“So you want me to text him?” Hisoka asked, whipping out his phone. 

“Yes,” Silva said, expression pained. 

_ Mommy and Daddy are here, Illumi. They think I’ve got you hidden in the couch cushions. Report back to the Zoldyck estate please and thanks~ _

After he sent his message, Hisoka scrolled up slightly to read over their last text conversation. It was brusque on Illumi’s part. Enthusiastically perverted on Hisoka’s. He liked to rile up Illumi. When he was angered, his hair floated like he was underwater and the air around him became dark and sinister and he emitted a scent that could only be described as a mixture of menthol and something very dangerous, like the smell of gasoline lingering on a stove. 

“Has he responded?” Silva asked, attempting to peer at Hisoka’s phone screen. 

“Not yet. Would you like some tea?” Hisoka opened the door wider. Kikyo stepped inside like an aggressive goose leaving her coop in the morning. Her dress bustled at her ankles busily. Hisoka liked her dress. He wished Illumi wore things like that. 

Illumi wore too much green.

Silva looked reluctant to enter, which was probably the smart thing, but he also was not a cowardly man. As soon as his wife was inside, he followed, eyeing Hisoka with a very familiar suspicion. 

“How long has Illumi been gone?” Hisoka asked, pouring two cups of black tea. “Cream? Sugar?” 

“Sugar,” Kikyo said. 

“Cream,” Silva said. 

“Three weeks,” Silva added.

They sat in his formal living room, the one without the tv, or the underwear on the floor. A coffee table book featuring various naked people sat on the coffee table. Hisoka scooted it under a fashion magazine with a winning smile. 

“That’s a lovely giraffe,” Kikyo said thinly. The giraffe was Hisoka’s prize possession. The neck arced gracefully over the living room, with the head lowered closer to the floor, about eye-level, when standing next to it. 

“It’s a recreation of a giraffe I worked with. At the circus.” Hisoka beamed. Silva made a face. Hisoka was starting to see the family resemblance between him and his eldest son. 

“The circus,” Kikyo echoed quietly. 

“Has he responded?” Silva demanded. 

“Nope,” Hisoka said, leaning back into the loveseat he was perched on. Three weeks was a long time for Illumi to be out of contact with his family. For a moment, he thought he felt a flicker of worry. 

“So why do you care so much?” Hisoka asked, suddenly leaning forward. Kikyo’s visor beeped. 

“About our son?” She asked hotly. Hisoka wondered if the irony had dawned on her yet, the irony of her saying she cared for her son. He and Illumi had not yet had the big, wet heart-to-heart followed by passionate sex that he had been waiting for, but he wasn’t an idiot. He could tell that much of Illumi’s oddness--because it was oddness--came from a very messed up, stunted childhood. 

No one who took poison with their coffee and slept in holes in the ground had a very good relationship with their parents. 

“I mean, you have your little white heir. The skateboarding child.” 

_ Skateboarding?  _ Kikyo mouthed to Silva. He shrugged. 

“Killu is our heir, but Illumi is still important to us. He’s our eldest. As of now, he’s our most powerful, competent child, and we want him back at the estate.” _As of now._ It was a strange thing to say. Hisoka had met many powerful people in his life. _He_ was a very powerful person. He knew Killua would grow up to be dangerous, just like Gon, but Illumi was simply a special case. Killua lacked the intense bloodlust of his older brother. He much preferred trotting the globe with Gon and eating chocolate and poking at frogs with sticks while squatting on the banks of rivers. Killua had been well-trained, but his heart wasn’t in it. 

Hisoka wasn’t even sure Illumi  _ had  _ a heart. 

“Right,” Hisoka said breezily. He knew not to argue with these people. “Well, before you resort to hysterics,” he continued, “Illumi and I are not partners in the way that you are afraid we are. In fact, I haven’t spoken to him in months.” They seemed simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “I’m slightly confused, however, why you haven’t just used your resources to look for him. I’m sure you could do it. Making house calls to every person Illumi has spoken to seems a little tedious.” Silva shifted uneasily in his seat. 

“It’s been made clear that Illumi doesn’t want to be found. We won’t be able to find him if he’s trying to hide from us. We thought you could help us track him down.” Even the people who had made Illumi couldn’t reel him in. It filled Hisoka with a sense of elation and pride and relief, all at once. 

“Do you know where Killua is?” He asked casually. 

“What? Yes of course.”

“But he’s on the run from you, also.” 

“Yes.” Hisoka wondered if they were going to understand his point anytime soon, or if he was going to have to spell it out for him. Two missing sons and the supposed heir was the one they could easily track down. Perhaps they had made a premature decision on who would inherit the Zoldyck estate.

“This is useless,” Kikyo spluttered suddenly. “Call us as soon as you make contact with Illumi. Get him to stay in one place. Force him, if you have to. We want him back.” 

“You want me to capture your son,” Hisoka clarified, an eyebrow raising slowly. 

“If that’s what it takes,” Silva rumbled, standing to his full height. His cup of tea was empty. Kikyo had left only the dregs. 

“Thank you for the tea,” he said plainly. 

Together, husband and wife linked arms and left Hisoka’s apartment. 

...

The very next evening, Hisoka received another knock on his door. He expected the worst: a bloodied, grinning Silva informing Hisoka that Illumi had been found and brought home. Instead, when he opened the door, he was met with blank, black eyes and hair so glossy it looked like water. 

“Hello, Hisoka. I would like to ask you a favor.” 

“You Zoldycks sure are takers, aren’t you?” 

“Excuse me?” Illumi asked, stiffening. 

“Your parents were here yesterday, asking me to find you.” Illumi didn’t seem surprised by this information. 

“Yes, I know. You texted me. That’s why I came,” he said. “They think you’re a dead-end, now. I would like to stay with you for the time being. All my money is stored in an account they have access to. I can’t use it without them tracking me.” Hisoka considered Illumi for a moment. He looked as untouchable as ever. Hisoka had seen people being chased. He could recognize the hounded look in their eyes, the desperation, the wariness, the exhaustion. Illumi looked like he had just come from a magazine cover shoot. The only thing missing was a slowly melting iced coffee in his perfect, pale hands. 

“Sure,” Hisoka said. Illumi blinked--Hisoka had learned that this was a show of gratitude--and walked into the apartment, observing it passively. 

“I hate that giraffe,” he said, wrinkling his nose. Hisoka laughed, eyes crinkling shut. 

“Would you like breakfast?” He asked. Illumi ran a thumb over the expensive pink marble of his kitchen island.

“Hm, no, I don’t eat breakfast.” 

“You should.” 

“It makes me nauseous.” The admission shocked Hisoka. The thought of Illumi feeling nausea, the thought of him taking steps to avoid something so mundane, the thought of Illumi telling Hisoka, it all combined to give him a brief but vicious sense of vertigo. 

“That’s because you don’t eat breakfast,” Hisoka pointed out after a moment. Illumi’s mouth twitched. 

“Are you going to ask me why I’m hiding from my parents?” 

“No.” 

“Do you want to know?” 

“Desperately.” Illumi tucked a strand of hair behind his ears. 

“I brought Killua home, after the Hunter Exam.” This, Hisoka knew. He had been there. “I figured he would be punished. Grounded, perhaps. Maybe Father would cuff him on the ear. He had always been very easy on Killua.” There was no bitterness in his voice when he said it, but Hisoka understood immediately the comparison he was subconsciously making. “And then I found out what my fucking mother did.” Hisoka flinched. He had never heard Illumi curse. Granted, they hadn’t known each other for very long. Still. 

“I had made myself very clear to my parents when Killua was born,” Illumi continued, oblivious to Hisoka’s surprise. “They would not raise him the way they raised me. I told them that I would take care of his rearing. I would make him a perfect heir, so long as they left him alone.” That strand of hair Illumi had tucked behind his ear fell forward again, shivering as he blinked against it. 

“They conveniently sent me on long jobs, constantly, to keep me away from the house.” Hisoka was starting to see how the Zoldyck’s had overlooked Illumi’s burgeoning power. They had been so intent on keeping their eldest away from their heir, that they had been sending him on missions so unfit for a teenager that he had no choice but to become excellent. 

“I tried to make myself clear to Killua. I used my needles. I threatened him. I just wanted to keep him from my parents. And then, of course, Killua had to run away and meet fucking  _ Gon _ .” Hisoka figured now would be a bad time to mention that he and Gon’s playful rivalry had somehow turned into a strangely beneficial friendship. 

“So, I’m punishing them. And making sure Killua stays out of their grasp,” Illumi finished with a soft little sigh. Hisoka didn’t know what he could safely say in response. 

“If he had only waited until he was more powerful than Silva. Once he inherited the estate, he could have made all the friends in the world.” Illumi said  _ friends  _ like it was a vulgar word. 

“I can make sure they don’t find you,” Hisoka said finally. Illumi glanced at him sideways. 

“It will only be temporary.” He bit unceremoniously at his thumbnail. “I plan on killing them anyway.” 

“Your parents?” Hisoka asked. Illumi nodded, studying his thumb with narrowed eyes. 

“Yes, Zeno, Silva, and Kikyo.” Hisoka felt a surge of giddiness in his throat. 

“Can I help?” Killing two of the most infamous assassins in the world, and Kikyo, with the help of their rogue offspring? Hisoka’s gut stirred with heat. 

“It won’t be a spectacle,” Illumi warned him. 

“I’m a master in stealth, no need to worry.” Illumi stared at Hisoka’s outfit dubiously. Even his loungewear--hot pink sweats and a green and pink crop top--lacked subtlety. 

“Fine. Just--don’t get in the way, Hisoka. This isn’t a game.” Illumi shrugged off his jacket and folded it over his arm. Hisoka had always been proud of his figure, but seeing Illumi in a tight black long sleeve that covered everything from wrists to throat was starting to make him jealous. 

No, not jealous. 

He wasn’t jealous at all, in fact. 

Without his heels, he was not taller than Illumi. They were about the same height. Illumi was slighter--narrower around the shoulders, leaner in the arms--but he was still well-muscled. In a game of raw strength, Hisoka would win, but not easily by any means. 

“Do you want me to show you to the guest room?” Hisoka extended his arm with a flourish. 

“You can borrow my pajamas tonight. We’ll go shopping tomorrow for things. I’d imagine you need… hair products.” 

“I don’t use product in my hair,” Illumi said simply. Hisoka laughed. Illumi did not. There was a tense pause. Hisoka looked for mirth in Illumi’s eyes. All he got was his usual expression, like a fish in an aquarium. 

“You’re serious?” Hisoka asked incredulously. 

“Of course.” 

“How is it like that?” 

“I want it to be that way,” Illumi said with a shrug. “Are you going to show me the guest room?” Hisoka’s expression softened again into that charming fox-smile. 

“Right this way, my lady.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Illumi said stiffly. Hisoka ignored him, pushing open the guest room with a flourish. 

“The bathroom is stocked with the basics. Extra towels are in the linen closet over there. I suppose you’ll need clothes,” Hisoka mused, tapping his chin. 

“I can borrow your clothes,” Illumi said. Hisoka felt delight bubble in his chest. He was going to put Illumi in the tiniest, sluttiest-- 

“Once I get my bank account back, I’ll reimburse you for my stay, of course.” 

“There’s no need, it’s what friends are for,” Hisoka said. 

“We are not friends,” Illumi said, nose wrinkling, as if the thought itself was unpleasant.

“We are,” Hisoka insisted. 

“No.” 

“Illumi,” Hisoka said, slightly exasperated, “do you even have friends?” He had to give him a moment to think about it. 

“Assassins don’t have friends.” 

“I thought that was Zoldyck propaganda.” 

“The Zoldycks don’t propagate. Keep our name out of your mouth, please.” Illumi tucked his hair behind his ear primly. 

“But you’re killing them.” 

“I’m killing them, I’m not dragging their name through the mud,” Illumi sniffed. 

“Right.” 

“May I shower?” 

“Say we’re friends,” Hisoka purred. 

“We are allies, if that.” 

“We’re friends, say it,” Hisoka pressed, leaning in until he and Illumi were almost nose to nose. Illumi had very pretty eyes. They weren’t like Hisoka’s--cat-like in shape, as bright as gold, heavily lidded and enchanting. They were round like a bug’s, or a fish’s, and totally black. But it was the kind of black you wanted to swim in or lick off a plate. Pure, untested black, as dark as the ocean at night, darker than that. 

“Say we’re friends,” Hisoka whispered, golden eyes narrowing in delight. He had missed this playing they did, the kind that raced his heart. 

For all his attempts at being dull, Illumi was a riveting companion. 

“You’re straddling my thigh,” Illumi pointed out, chin tilting down to observe where Hisoka had indeed pinned Illumi’s thigh between two of his own. 

“Maybe that should be our secret handshake,” Hisoka said, mouth curling up at the edges even more. 

“But we aren’t using our hands,” Illumi replied. 

“We can if you want to.” It was more of a moan than spoken word. Hisoka followed it with a wink. Illumi’s nose wrinkled again. 

I’m showering,” he announced, pushing past Hisoka gently and turning on the showerhead. With a wary glare, Illumi closed the door, sealing off Hisoka’s view. 

Rats. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen!” He called. Illumi didn’t reply. 

...

By the time Illumi emerged from the shower, hair falling in a dark, damp mass around his shoulders, it was nearly midnight. 

He was in nothing but a towel and he smelled intensely of the honeysuckle lotion that Hisoka kept stocked in the guest room. 

“You didn’t leave me clothes,” he said flatly. Oops. Hisoka sighed and walked very slowly down the hall to his bedroom. Illumi followed, keeping a wary hand on his towel where it wrapped around his waist. 

“I keep bracing myself for you to say something inappropriate,” Illumi admitted. “I’m impressed…” He faltered. 

Hisoka was holding up bright red lingerie. 

“Is that yours?” Illumi asked hoarsely. Hisoka dangled the lace in an attempt to be tantalizing.

“You don’t like the color? I can--” 

“Please give me real clothes,” Illumi said tightly. His fists were clenched. Hisoka noted it out of the corner of his eye. Illumi liked to play short-tempered around him, but he was usually almost mind-blowingly tolerant, like a very jaded daycare worker, or a mother. There was something off about him right now. Hisoka discarded the lingerie silently and handed him an actual pajama set: white with blue pinstripes. 

“It might be a little big,” Hisoka warned him. Illumi sniffed. 

“It won’t be  _ that  _ big.” Posturing was a good look on him. He watched as Illumi gingerly stuck his arms through the sleeves and buttoned the top up, covering his chest. Hisoka was sad to see it go. Illumi had a fantastic chest. 

He handled the issue of pants with even more care--slowly stepping into them and pulling them up, taking great care that his towel didn’t slip. 

Hisoka had been right. They were a bit big. If Illumi noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. 

“Thank you for the clothes,” he said firmly. Hisoka bowed with a flourish. 

“Tomorrow we can get you whatever you’ll need. I’ll be your sugar daddy.” 

“I have more money than you,” Illumi said automatically. 

“You’re awfully contrary today,” Hisoka said, closing the space between them suddenly. Black eyes widened and then narrowed. 

“Is my entire stay going to consist of you invading my personal space while sporting an erection?” 

“Depends, do you want it to?” 

“I am going to bed,” Illumi said. He turned on his heel and walked down the hall back to the guest room. The door closed gently, but Hisoka did not miss the soft click of the lock from the inside. 


	2. A Trip in The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, all they do is go grocery shopping

“It’s raining,” Illumi said in lieu of _good morning_. Hisoka was awake earlier than usual. It was that natural reaction to having someone unfamiliar in your home. Your body sensed it, retaliated by waking you up in a starburst of panic an hour too early, making you tiptoe where you needn’t, making you forget how to make coffee with your own machine. It made your heart beat so quickly that you felt it in the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. 

Maybe that last one was just a reaction to Illumi, Hisoka decided a bit sheepishly. 

“It is raining,” he agreed, taking another slow sip of coffee. Illumi was still wearing the pajama set that Hisoka had lent him. Following a night of use, it was wrinkled at the inner elbows and armpits and the backs of the knees. 

“How did you sleep?” Hisoka asked, trying to be coy. Illumi blinked, at his politeness, perhaps. 

“Fine. I like waking up to rain.” Hisoka didn’t respond. He had a feeling if he was quiet, like a deer approaching you sideways in a park, Illumi would continue. 

“I used to drag Milluki out of the house when I was younger, every time it rained. I liked catching frogs.” 

“You look like a frog,” Hisoka said, laughing silently. Illumi’s brows lowered as if he had just been delivered very grave news. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You look like a frog, Illumi.” The expression he made in response was almost endearing, brows pinching over his eyes, lips pursing. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table with an intensity that sent shudders through the wood. 

“Anyways, the land surrounding the estate was prone to flooding, so my parents would often be busy on rainy days, making sure everything was in order.” _That’s why I like the rain,_ Illumi seemed to imply. Hisoka waited for more eagerly: a child in the snowfall with their tongue stuck out. 

But Illumi seemed to think he had given too much. He sat there in a self-imposed silence, lips pursed, as if in regret. 

“Have you had breakfast?” He finally asked. It was charmingly awkward.

“No,” Hisoka said. 

“Okay.” And that was it. No follow-up. Hisoka waited a great while for Illumi to add something, anything, but he just bobbed his head and walked straight back in his room. 

Once more, the apartment descended into that tense, half-emptiness. Hisoka drummed his fingers on the dining room table and bit his lip. 

_I’m going to kill them_ , Illumi had said, in the same way that he would say, _do you have spare change?_ Hisoka had a feeling that when it came time to do it, Illumi would falter. 

For all his overwhelming strength as an assassin, there was a fragility in his head that frightened Hisoka. It was as if he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, like no one had built in a railing between being a professional killer and being consumed by your trauma until it rendered you insane. 

Killua didn’t struggle as much with this because he had Gon now. He had left early enough. He was damaged, but not totally. A half-Zoldyck. 

Illumi, rather on-brand for him, was a pure-bred. 

Footsteps came again from the hallway, light, ginger. 

“Do you have outside clothes I can borrow?”

“Outside clothes?” Hisoka asked, stifling a laugh. Illumi’s mouth curled slightly. 

“Clothes to wear when we go out to buy me things.” 

“I thought I wasn’t your sugar daddy,” Hisoka said, tilting his head back and to the side to lazily glance at Illumi. 

“Hisoka.” 

He sighed, letting out a little groan as he stood. Illumi stepped back politely so he could walk by. 

“You’re a very demanding house-guest, you know that right?” 

“I have a feeling you’re enjoying it, regardless,” Illumi bit out. Hisoka grinned. 

“You caught me.” He tapped his closet door open and extended an arm, a welcoming gesture. 

“Go crazy.” Illumi gave his clothes a skeptical glance. 

“Do you have anything… not clown-themed?” 

“It’s not a theme,” Hisoka said, “and it’s not clowns. Besides, I have regular clothes.” He did have regular clothes: jeans and shirts and sweaters, none of which he actually wore, but he wanted to be prepared, in case the whim ever struck him. 

Illumi picked out black pants and a navy sweater. Boring. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, taking the clothes with him to his room. 

“Meet me in the living room and we can go!” Hisoka called. 

...

“I only have one umbrella,” Hisoka said with a fake pout. Illumi fingered a strand of his own hair. 

“Fine.” The private elevator took them directly down to the ground floor of the apartment building. A doorman in a dark green suit held open the door for them. 

“Do you have a car?” Illumi asked, peering dubiously at the nearly flooded sidewalk.

“I thought we would walk,” Hisoka said, stepping directly into a gray puddle of water. Illumi shied away from the resulting splash. 

Overhead, the sky was a deep, roiling black, even despite the early hour. The rain, though disastrous for Illumi’s hair, had put him in too good a mood to deny Hisoka. He shrugged and sidled up closer, for the sake of rain protection from the umbrella. 

Illumi did not miss the way Hisoka tipped the umbrella slightly towards him, offering him more shield from the weather. It was a startlingly gentlemanly thing to do. Illumi’s fingers curled inside his jacket pockets. 

No, not his jacket. Hisoka’s. 

_I don’t really have raincoats,_ Hisoka had said sheepishly back at the apartment, offering up a dark blue driver’s coat. He himself was wearing a similar one in a dark burgundy, which clashed horribly with the bright pink and purple of his hair. 

Still, he looked pretty sharp, Illumi thought. 

“I need to pick up some groceries first,” Hisoka said. Illumi wasn’t paying attention. His dinner-plate eyes were fixed on the rushing gurgle of water running along the sides of the street. Hisoka tapped his shoulder. 

“Hm?” 

“Grocery shopping?” 

“Oh, yes.” There was another lengthy pause. Hisoka’s smile bordered on exasperated. 

“Did you have any food you wanted to get?” 

“Yes,” Illumi replied. “I would like—“ A truck blared by. Wind-swept rain battered their faces. 

“Let’s just get inside,” Hisoka said. 

...

The grocery store was just three blocks away. Heat lamps were set up in the entrance vestibule, a kind courtesy to the store’s patrons. Illumi strode through the first set of doors and stood in front of one of the heaters until his face burned and Hisoka pulled him away by the arm. 

“What do you want?” Hisoka asked. “I need to restock my whole fridge.” Without answering, Illumi veered sharply towards the back of the store, hair fluttering behind him prettily. 

Illumi was really very pretty. 

Hisoka wondered if he ever noticed the lingering stares from men and women alike, or if he preferred to float through life like the dandelion puff he was, killing people for money and having stunning hair.

He returned a moment later with his arms full. 

“This is all ice cream,” Hisoka said. 

“Mhm,” Illumi replied. His foot was jittering nervously. Anxiety was a very weird look on Illumi, who Hisoka had always thought of having Muzak playing in the background of his mind on a constant loop. 

“You don’t want… real food?”

“I guess we should get some of that, too.” 

...

Illumi’s diet was appalling. Hisoka could not believe that someone so austere and rigid in appearance could eat like a flailing college student. It was a wonder he had the body he did and the ability he did. Hisoka wasn’t sure how Illumi met any of his nutrition requirements eating food like that. 

“You’re sure you want this?” Hisoka asked reluctantly. Illumi’s mouth twitched. 

“I put it into the cart, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, but--nevermind.” Hisoka was mildly embarrassed to pay for most of the stuff. It looked as if he was shopping for a bunch of elementary school children. 

“Woah, the kids at home are going to be overjoyed,” the cashier said, smiling brightly. Illumi opened his mouth to correct her but Hisoka interrupted smoothly. 

“Yup.” When they emerged from the store, the rain was still in full force. Illumi wrinkled his nose and stared up at the sky. 

“We’ll get a taxi,” Hisoka decided. 

“I think that would be best.” 

...

“We didn’t get clothes,” Hisoka said suddenly, remembering the reason they had wanted to venture out in the first place. Illumi lifted his head from where he was bent over a mug in the kitchen. A newly purchased tin of hot chocolate mix sat, opened, on the counter. 

“I figured I would just keep borrowing yours. I’m going to start picking up freelance jobs.” 

“People know to go directly to you and not through your family?” 

“Most of my work was my own stuff. My father contacted me about family jobs every month or so.” 

“Ah.” Illumi seemed to be intensely focused on his hot chocolate, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“You really like junk food, don’t you,” Hisoka said. Illumi dipped his pinky in the hot chocolate, checking the temperature. Seemingly satisfied, he licked his finger afterward and wrapped both hands around the mug. 

“My diet was highly regulated as a child.” Hisoka watched as Illumi carefully settled onto the dark blue velvet loveseat that faced the fireplace. He tucked his legs underneath his body, staring with empty eyes at his hot chocolate. 

“Ah,” Hisoka said. 

“Milluki got away with a lot more than I did,” Illumi continued, sipping occasionally at his mug. “He could eat whatever he wanted. Sometimes, I would steal his food, but it wasn’t really worth it.” The rain slammed relentlessly against the outside of the building. It was the kind of rain that wasn’t pleasant to fall asleep to. It was jarring, angry, like the sky had unfinished business with your window panes. 

“After seeing how Milluki turned out, my parents were strict again about food with Killua.” Hisoka remembered absently, during one of his many conversations with Gon, that Killua liked chocolate very much, specifically, chocolate in the shape of robots. 

“So I like trying new things whenever I can.” Illumi took a long sip of hot chocolate and fixed his gaze far off, on the rain smattering against Hisoka’s windows. The watery gray light should have been unflattering, but Illumi, as always, looked very prim and soft, with that slightly surprising underlying current of strong, dark masculinity. 

He straddled an odd line constantly. Hisoka wondered if his very traditional parents cared much about Illumi’s crop tops and his pin-straight hair, or if they didn’t really mind his oddball aesthetic because he was a tried and true killing machine. 

“Hisoka?”

“Hm?” 

“You were staring,” Illumi said, still staring himself, but at the rain. 

“Just thinking,” Hisoka said with a soft smile. 

“About me?” It was accusatory, almost wary, like Illumi was expecting the worst. 

“You’re very self-centered, you know that?” Illumi’s lip lifted into a snarl. 

“You’re one to talk.” 

“And here I was, opening my home to you, Illu. I even bought all of your disgusting foods. This is how you treat me?” 

“I’m going to pay you back,” Illumi said with a glower. Hisoka stood, looming over Illumi purposefully. Illumi’s face was impassive, unthreatened. It irritated Hisoka a little bit. He knew he had a pretty slappable face. Many people had told him this. Many people had tried to do it. 

Gon _had_ , actually. 

But, sometimes, Illumi really made Hisoka want to--

“You’re staring again,” Illumi said flatly. 

“I was picturing myself strangling you.” 

The assassin snorted, as if the thought was laughable. It probably was. 

The closest Hisoka would ever get to choking Illumi out would be during sex, and the closest he would ever get to having sex with Illumi would be being murdered by him. 

“Gimme a sip of that,” Hisoka said suddenly. Illumi glanced at him, eyebrows ticking up in surprise. He held up the mug in confirmation. 

“Yeah, gimme a sip of that,” Hisoka said again, making clawing motions with his hands. Illumi handed it to him, having to lean forward to reach over the coffee table. 

It was piping hot. 

“Jesus Christ, Illumi.” 

“Hm?”

“It’s scalding.” Hisoka took a very ginger sip and recoiled. “It burned me,” he pouted, sticking out his tongue to show Illumi. 

“I like hot drinks.” Hisoka blew on it gently, eyeing the dark brown surface as it rippled in tiny waves. Illumi watched very intently, like a cat on the edge of a koi pond. His fingers were laced together very politely. Hisoka had never noticed before, but Illumi had scarred hands. 

It was so out of place with the image Hisoka had of Illumi in his mind that he nearly dropped the mug. 

Scarred hands but perfectly maintained pink-oval fingernails. 

The mug finally cooled down enough. Hisoka took a reluctant sip for the second time and quirked an eyebrow in surprise. 

“It’s good,” he said. Illumi nodded very matter-of-factly. 

“Hot chocolate is very good, yes. Give it back, now, please.” Hisoka gave the mug back to Illumi, who handled it deftly with one hand, seemingly unbothered by the hot ceramic outside. 

“I really like the rain,” Illumi said. 

“Because you didn’t have to see your parents,” Hisoka said, nodding. Illumi stiffened, like if he resented Hisoka’s abridged version of Illumi’s story. 

“It’s more than that,” he countered. 

“Of course,” Hisoka said. Illumi didn’t continue. He fixed his gaze back to the window and sipped his drink again. His hair was slightly wavy from the dampness outside. It was a good look, the waviness, something Hisoka had never seen of him before. 

The pair of them sat in the living room in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Hisoka had his feet propped up on the coffee table, head tilted back, eyes closed, and Illumi was sitting very properly in the loveseat, legs crossed at the ankles, a mug steaming gently in his lap. 

Outside, the rain lashed the windows and the wind howled terribly, as if pain. 

“And my favorite part,” Illumi said, his mouth opening without his permission, “is when the rain stops and everything is wet and new.” Hisoka cracked open an eye and slowly smiled. 

“As soon as the rain stops, we’ll go out then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of short but don't worry, I have more coming up soon! Hope you guys liked it! 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think!


	3. The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illumi is hired for a job! Hisoka comes along!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a doozy. I've been rewatching Hannibal recently (like literally everyone else on Twitter) and it's just got me thinking a lot about gruesome murders. This is also the start to a semblance of plot? I keep getting carried away with domesticity, and as much I enjoy that, there is also an end I'm working to!
> 
> I apologize in advance for the violence and gore, though I hope it isn't as extreme as I'm making it out to be. In addition to that, there are also vague descriptions of child abuse, and very, very brief mentions of rape. Please heed the tags!
> 
> If you would like to skip the violence, it's between "My name is Illumi Zoldyck" and “Why--Hisoka--why would you do that?”
> 
> Thanks!

Hisoka woke an hour earlier than he usually did to the sun streaming in from the windows. He had forgotten to close his blinds. It was an unusual oversight for him. He liked to sleep in total darkness.

After a long stretch, he stumbled out of bed and threw on a pair of red striped boxers that were folded neatly in his drawers. He ran a cursory thumb under the waistband to ensure it lied flat against his hips and then he ventured out the door.

In the mornings, his apartment was frigid, especially with the marble floors and the big tall windows which did little to retain heat. Hisoka had thought another body would help warm up the apartment when the heat wasn’t on, but, unsurprisingly, Illumi was as cold as his countertops. 

Hisoka meandered towards the kitchen, shuffling as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He was almost to the coffee machine when his foot snagged on something--fabric--and he crashed to the floor in an ungraceful scramble. 

Hisoka blinked blearily at his foot--black boxer briefs had hooked themselves there. He forced his eyes to open properly, so he could scan the rest of his living room. It was a disaster. He hadn’t even noticed how much clothing and miscellaneous junk had built up in his apartment since Illumi’s arrival. Beside the underwear, there was a jacket on the chair,  _ two  _ damp towels on the couch, both smelling intensely of Illumi’s new, fragrant shampoo, and about a dozen empty or nearly empty mugs and glasses.

Whatever sleepiness Hisoka had still been harboring was utterly gone now. 

“Illumi!” He shouted. 

“ _ What _ ?” He snapped from his bedroom. He sounded like he had been up for a while. 

“What do you mean,  _ what _ ? Come here!” Hisoka heard his door click open then slam shut. 

Illumi was in his assassin outfit. After the rain had stopped, Hisoka and Illumi ventured back out into the city and bought Illumi real clothes. The kind of clothes he could kill people in. The kind of clothes, evidently, Illumi could leave around the house like a spoiled child. 

The outfit he had on now was nice-looking: a black long-sleeve top that went all the way up his throat and black pants with lots of pockets. 

“You have serious problems, Illumi.” 

“Specify,” Illumi said, surveying the room and apparently seeing nothing wrong with it. Hisoka raised an eyebrow indignantly.

“Do you know how to do laundry?” The face Illumi made told Hisoka instantly that he did not. 

“Why on earth would I need to know how to do that?” 

“I have a maid come here twice a week. When she is not here, you can’t just leave your shit everywhere. In fact, even  _ when  _ she is here, you can’t do that. Were you raised by ani--” Hisoka caught himself and cringed. Illumi was staring at him expectantly.  _ Go ahead, finish that sentence,  _ his blank expression said.

“Your underwear is on the floor. Your dishes are everywhere. I don’t even want to see the state of your room.” 

“At home, I had butlers who--” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we aren’t at the Zoldyck estate, Illumi.” The assassin’s expression went cold. 

“Yes, I’ve noticed, Hisoka, thank you.” The living room descended into an arid silence. 

“I’ll be cleaner,” and Illumi gritted out that last word like it was a vulgarity, “if you stop watching pornographic videos on the living room TV.”

“It’s my house!” 

“You just do it to make me uncomfortable,” Illumi pointed out. He was right. Hisoka couldn’t help it. He laughed. He laughed so hard that his stomach shook and he had to clutch it. Illumi’s face remained sour. 

“Okay, you caught me. Any other requests?” Illumi seemed to consider the question. 

“No.” 

“Good. Pick up your shit and then we’ll have breakfast.” 

...

Hisoka made waffles, lovingly cutting strawberries and mango into heart shapes and other shapes--less romantic and more phallic. Illumi didn’t seem to notice. He picked at everything like a bird, seemingly ignoring Hisoka’s warm, smug gaze where it was pinned on him. It was a semblance of domesticity that they had yet to enjoy since their day in the rain. 

When Illumi had come to his apartment declaring his plan to kill his family, Hisoka had expected his stay to be short and violent and maybe punctuated by a marathonic round of rage-fueled sex. He did not think it would involve teaching Illumi how to do laundry and cutting fruit in the shape of cocks. 

Not that he minded. Living with Illumi was like living with a very sexy cat: Hisoka had to take care of him with little reward, but he was nice to look at, and Hisoka really wanted him to sit in his lap. 

Illumi, from across the kitchen nook table, checked his phone and abruptly stood up. 

“Where are you going?” Hisoka asked, an eyebrow raised in confusion. Illumi stopped at the door. 

“I have to meet a client, for a job.” 

“In person?” 

“It’s unusual, yes. She requested it.” 

“And why are you entertaining it?” Hisoka pressed. Illumi’s hand fell off the doorknob. He turned, lips pursed. 

“I don’t have to follow my parent’s rules anymore. I don’t think I’m being set up. I’m going.” 

“Let me come with you,” Hisoka said, standing up with a little stretch. Illumi snorted. 

“No.” 

“I won’t say a word. If it is a trap, you’ll have backup--” 

“I don’t  _ need  _ backup.” 

“But if it isn’t a trap, then I’ll get to see how you do your job, and I want to see that. Please?” 

“Hisoka…” Illumi sighed wearily. 

“Please?” He asked again, a smug purr. “Please.” Illumi stared at Hisoka, and Hisoka stared right back. Illumi found himself making eye-contact with Hisoka a lot these days. As a child, he had had problems with looking people in the eyes. His mother would slap his thigh, hard, at the dinner table. 

_ Look your father in the eye when he’s speaking to you!  _ Illumi would drag his gaze upward and force himself to stare into the piercing gray eyes of his father, who always regarded him with palpable disappointment. They would be connected as if by a form of Nen, to that point that Illumi couldn’t move, couldn’t break free even if he tried. He was usually given mercy by an eventual blink, or the shift of his attention--to baby Killua or Kikyo. 

But eye-contact with Hisoka was strangely addicting--electrifying, almost. Every time their eyes met, it was an almost painful jolt of electricity, the kind of sensation you wanted to feel again and again until it no longer made the hair on your arms stand up. It reminded Illumi of nights spent in the belly of a dungeon, tasting poison in the gaps of his teeth, shivering from the aftershocks of electrocution. More specifically, it reminded him of the moments after--his mother stroking his hair, cooing as he was washed down by a butler, braiding his hair with cool, gentle fingers. It was that feeling of shock, from agony to an almost indescribable sense of peace.

Illumi blinked from his reverie. 

“Fine, get dressed. Don’t wear your jester clothes.” Hisoka skipped down the hall with a delighted laugh. 

“Hurry up!” Illumi shouted after him. 

...

Hisoka did not listen. He came out of his room in his usual obnoxious attire, but Illumi was in too much of a rush to make him go properly change. Reluctantly, he led the way. 

“Where are we meeting her?” 

“A coffee shop,” Illumi said, scanning the street signs to make sure they were going in the right direction. Hisoka snorted. 

“Predictable.” 

“It will be crowded--safer for everyone involved.” 

“Why does she want to meet with you in person?” Illumi turned sideways to avoid brushing shoulders with a passing businessman. 

“Don’t know,” was his terse reply. Hisoka fell silent, still smiling. Passersby gave them a few odd looks, no doubt because of their combined appearances, but no one initiated anything inconvenient. Illumi had a feeling people in this area knew who Hisoka was, and they weren’t about to incur his wrath for no reason. 

The cafe was a small one, situated on a corner, with a few tiny wrought iron tables outside, protected by striped red umbrellas. Inside, it was very warm and crowded and smelled intensely of roasted coffee beans. Most of the seating had been claimed: two teenagers slumped over each other on a loveseat, a pair of older women chatting on either sides of a low coffee table. Illumi spotted the potential client easily. She was in her early thirties, with mousy hair and a very stern brown gaze. She had saved four padded leather chairs in the corner of the store. A small circular table sat in the middle. 

When she saw Illumi, with Hisoka, she blanched. 

“I’ll get us coffee,” Hisoka said, striding up to the register without waiting for Illumi to reply. He wanted to tell Hisoka he didn’t like coffee--too bitter--but it was a little later for that. 

Hisoka was already ordering, leaning over the counter with a flirtatious smile on, flustering the young, dark-haired barista. 

Illumi left him there to wait for their drinks and walked up to the brown-eyed woman. She startled at his proximity. 

“You’re… Mr. Zoldyck?” She asked. 

“Illumi,” he corrected. 

“Oh, okay. Thank you for meeting me here. I know it’s unorthodox.” 

“Yes.” Illumi sat in the chair closest to the wall, leaving Hisoka the more accessible one. 

“Hisoka?” The barista called, setting two ceramic mugs on the counter. Hisoka picked them up and glided to their table. 

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t like coffee,” he said with a grin, setting down a mug of hot chocolate.

Oh. 

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”

“Who is--” 

“I’m Illumi’s associate. My name is Hisoka, lovely to meet you.” He held out a hand and the woman shook it. 

“I would introduce myself but I’m understandably wary,” she said with a wry smile. Despite her clear anxiety about the situation, she was well-spoken and hardened. 

“Why’d you want to meet in person?” Hisoka asked, leaning forward slightly. He flinched as he felt a very cold hand on his thigh.  _ Shut up,  _ Illumi’s fingers said, digging into the muscle until it hurt. 

“I wanted to--well--I wanted to discuss pricing. I know about you Zoldyck’s. When we spoke on the phone, you said the price depended on the difficulty of the job, but--” 

“Who do you want me to kill?” Illumi asked softly. Hisoka nearly startled at his tone. It was far gentler than anything he had heard from Illumi, ever. The woman went rigid. 

“You’re going to think I’m an awful person,” she said. Hisoka snorted into his coffee. 

“I assure you, we won’t.” 

“My father is… abusive.” Hisoka glanced at Illumi, waiting to see a reaction. Nothing. “It started when I was about five or six, from what I can remember. At first, it was just hitting and yelling. Nothing abnormal. He was very young when he and my mother had me. I used to think he was just unprepared for having a child. But--” she took a sip of her coffee shakily. “It got much worse. I won’t go into detail, but I have scars all over my body.” She rolled up the sleeve of her sweater to reveal extensive burn scarring. 

“He threatened me and my friends with rape, starting when I was about thirteen. He was a terrible father. But, I wasn’t going to do anything about it,” she continued, scratching her palm absently. “I do well for myself now. We don’t speak, haven’t since I left the house. I was going to just leave it alone. And then I found out--” she choked out a sob. “He remarried, and she’s pregnant. And I  _ know  _ that he will do to that child what he did to me. I don’t even know this kid, but--I can’t let it happen again.” Illumi was gripping the armrests of his chair so hard Hisoka could hear the leather groan. 

“So, that’s  _ why  _ I’m asking you to kill my dad,” she said with a watery laugh. “I just need to know how much it costs. I know your clients are usually… very rich.” Their tiny corner of the cafe was silent. Even as life bustled around them, no one moved in their three chairs. Hisoka tapped Illumi’s thigh and big black eyes blinked to awareness.

“How much can you pay?” Illumi asked simply. Her eyebrow raised in confusion. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You asked me how much it would cost. Tell me how much you feel comfortable paying.” Hisoka watched in shock, unsmiling now. Shakily, the woman wrote down a number on a napkin and slid it to Illumi. He looked at it for a second, and then lifted his head, and slid the napkin back over. 

“That’s fine.” 

“Wait--” The woman said, voice high with alarm. 

“Text me his name and I’ll have it done by Friday.” 

“That can’t be enough!” She said shrilly. Hisoka sipped his coffee. 

“I just said it was,” Illumi replied. “Text me his name, and how you want him killed, if you have a preference. I can either send digital proof, in the form of a photo, or physical proof, in the form of him.” 

“You mean like a finger?” 

“Or head or tongue or cock.” Hisoka choked, spluttering coffee into the air. He was trying very hard not to picture it, but the image of Illumi holding a severed dick in a black-gloved hand refused to leave his imagination. He crossed and uncrossed his legs awkwardly. Illumi was looking at the woman with such intensity it was starting to look like he wanted to kill  _ her.  _

“I don’t want physical proof, but can you tell him who sent you, and why? Please?” Her voice wavered with passion.

“Sure.” Their corner went quiet again. Illumi ran a hand through his hair.

“I think we’re done here,” he said. 

“I’m gonna get a to-go cup for your drink,” Hisoka muttered, excusing himself quietly. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, the woman shaking Illumi’s hand frantically. 

_ Thank you, thank you.  _ Illumi gave her a cool, awkward smile. She left after that, clutching her bag to her side and exhaling what Hisoka could tell were decades of anxiety and fear. Illumi sat at the table still, sipping his hot chocolate carefully. He was staring off into space, gaze sightless, knees knocked together. 

“I got a to-go cup, if you want to leave,” Hisoka said, settling into the seat next to him. Illumi blinked in thanks and went back to nursing his drink. 

“That was very generous of you,” Hisoka said cautiously. 

“Whatever.” 

“Let’s head back.” 

“I like it here,” Illumi said, sighing slightly. He leaned back in the chair, slumping until his body was nearly half-off it. Hisoka sipped his coffee slowly. 

“Would you like to talk about that little interaction just now?” 

“What do you mean?” Illumi’s eyes were closed, face as calm as the surface of a lake. 

“The woman with the abusive father and the younger sibling she is desperate to protect.” 

“Half-sibling.” 

“Silly me. Half-sibling, then. You don’t want to acknowledge the similarities between you and that woman?” One black eye cracked open and glared with the force of a punch. 

“What would you like me to say, Hisoka? Do you want me to regale you with the intimate details of my childhood?” 

“That would be nice. Much better than me playing some sort of guessing game. You come to my apartment--mind you, we are not exactly close--and declare you want to murder your parents. What is that all about?” 

“What do you think?”

“You think they’re going to hurt Killua because of the way they raised you,” Hisoka said, “You told me this. That’s all you told me, however.” 

“And you’ve told me nothing about yourself,” Illumi snapped. Hisoka braced his brow between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Because, Illu, I am a stable adult with my own apartment and my own source of income and a very strong grasp on my various psychoses.” 

“You think I don’t?” Illumi demanded, setting his mug down and tilting his chin upward in a casual display of threat. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Illumi, but everything about you screams  _ traumatized _ .” Their corner fell silent for a third and final time. Illumi knocked back the rest of his drink and clutched the now-empty mug between his fingers. 

“You think I’ve been traumatized?” He sneered. Hisoka plucked the mug from Illumi’s hands and took his own. 

“Let’s go back to the apartment, come on.” Hisoka stood but Illumi remained sitting. 

“I want to stay here. You go.” Hisoka winced. He had pushed too hard, then. Hard, angry eyes studied him warily, as if expecting resistance. 

“You know how to get back?” 

“Of course.” 

“The doorman will let you up.” With that, Hisoka left Illumi to sit alone in the cafe, staring at the scribbled-on napkin the woman had forgotten on the table. 

...

“I think It would be best if I came.” Illumi’s hand paused in where it was pulling the final strap of his boots. 

“It’s going to be easy work,” Illumi said, head cocking. 

“I would like to come,” Hisoka repeated with more strength. 

“Don’t get in my way,” Illumi said, standing to his full height. In the boots, he was taller than Hisoka by an inch or two. They were sturdy, thick-soled, with enough traction to work well in the snow if need be. The rest of the outfit was standard: black cargo pants and a black undershirt with a cropped jacket. Hisoka had no doubt that Illumi had an unimaginable number of needles stashed in his clothes. 

“Let’s go.” 

...

Illumi had hired a car to take them to an office building in the center of the city. It was expensive real estate, but as they entered the lobby, it was clear that the building hadn’t been updated in a long time. The cheap linoleum floors echoed as they walked. Two ancient-looking security cameras had their heads bowed, lenses dark. 

“I had them disabled before we came,” Illumi said. A sluggish pair of guards didn’t even perk when Illumi and Hisoka slipped by with their Zetsu. 

The elevator ride was tense. 

“Did she have any requests on how you kill him?” Hisoka asked. Illumi shook his head. 

“She said ‘be merciful’, whatever that means.” Hisoka’s fox-like smile widened. 

“Are you going to be? Merciful, I mean.” 

“She’s my client. It’s up to her,” Illumi said with a shrug. His tone was casual, but Hisoka did not miss the way his foot tapped anxiously against the floor of the elevator, or the way the muscles in his forearms twitched and jumped as he played with a needle between his fingers.

When the elevator doors opened, Illumi slunk through first. The floor they were on was an array of tightly-packed cubicles. Only half the fluorescent lights overhead were on, and the ones that were flickered occasionally.

Illumi weaved like a hound dog through the floor, hair swishing behind him very prettily. He seemed almost mindless in his movement, until very suddenly, he froze. 

“What is it, boy?” Hisoka whispered in a falsely bright tone. Illumi glared.

“I’m not a dog.” Hisoka reached over, to try to pat his head, but he was gripped so hard around the wrist that he felt his bones groan. He pried himself free and mimed sealing his mouth with a zipper. Illumi’s mouth twitched. 

“His secretary is still here, so--”

“See you tomorrow!” A woman’s voice called. 

“Nevermind, she’s leaving.” Illumi seemed pleased by that, to have their client’s father all to himself. As soon as the woman had disappeared into the elevator, Illumi sent a pin hurtling thirty yards back the way they came, hitting the light switch and illuminating in a tepid yellow light. Hisoka couldn’t hide his flinch quickly enough. 

Sometimes he forgot that Illumi was better with his pins than he was with his cards. Their target’s head lifted in surprise. He had a trembling silver mustache and the thick, grizzled neck of someone who didn’t care for their diet. 

His eyeglasses were small and slightly tinted blue. 

“Who’s there?” He asked. His voice was higher than expected, flat and airy, like he sucked in lots of air with every word. 

Illumi slid out from behind the cubicle he and Hisoka had been hiding behind and made himself known. 

“My name is Illumi Zoldyck.” 

Hisoka had a feeling already that this was not how most of Illumi’s assassinations went. His gut roiled at the edges. 

“I know that name,” the man gasped. Illumi leaned forward, hair falling with him. Hisoka saw the glint of metal as he played absently with his pins behind his back. 

“I was instructed by your daughter to tell you why you were being killed.” A horrible realization fell over the man’s face.

“ _ Please! No _ \--”

“Your new wife is pregnant, congratulations. Your daughter, however, had some--”

“Please don’t kill me! I’ll do anything! I have money! I can pay you!” The man fell onto his desk, scrambling back, sending a large black desktop computer to crash to the ground, scattering papers. Hisoka watched from a few feet away, hands on his hips. 

“Don’t interrupt me,” Illumi hissed. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the windows, which creaked in warning. He brought his free hand, fisted, against the man’s thigh with a quiet, furious strength--a punch with no windup necessary. 

Hisoka could tell by the man’s howl that Illumi’s fist had been punctuated by multiple needles, needles that were inches deep in the man by now. 

“Your daughter was concerned you would do to the new child what you did to her. Do you remember what you did to her?” 

“ _ PLEASE!” _

“Do you remember what you did? Please answer or I’ll twist my hand.” Illumi’s tone was gaining a noticeable strain. 

“I hurt her, but I regret it! I feel terrible! It wasn’t in my nature! That’s not who I am! I’ll give you all my money, please just don’t kill me,” he sobbed desperately. 

“Say you’re sorry,” Illumi hissed. When the man didn’t answer, he did indeed twist his hand. The pins made a sickening squelching sound as they went. 

The man screamed. Hisoka cringed. 

This was one messy assassination. Illumi dropped him onto the floor and then was immediately on top of him, straddling him with thighs bunched in eagerness. His hands gripped the man about the skull, thumb digging into his eye sockets, and with a little sigh of exertion, he squeezed. 

“Say you’re sorry,” Illumi continued on, voice trembling now. One eyeball burst in a pathetic gush of blood. The man screamed again. 

“ _ I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY!”  _ The other eyeball burst. Illumi’s thumbs sank even deeper into bloody, sightless sockets. Hisoka had had enough. He produced two cards between his index and middle finger and sent them spinning.

They buried mercifully into the man’s skull, killing him instantly. Illumi screamed out, once, in an unspeakable rage, and then he fell silent, prying his thumbs from the man’s skull and drying them on his pants with the simmering anger of someone who was a hair away from a meltdown. 

“Why-- _ Hisoka _ \--why would you do that?” Illumi’s voice was calmer than expected, but his fingers were digging so hard into his palms that Hisoka could see crescents of red cuts forming. 

“You’re an assassin, not a vigilante. You were enjoying it too much.” 

“That was my kill.” 

“You were playing with your food, dear.” Hisoka’s knowing gold eyes were painful to make eye-contact with. Illumi knew he had little excuse. His target’s blood was congealing on his hands, turning tight and dry. 

“Did that satisfy you? Making him cry, making him apologize? Was he a suitable Silva surrogate? Or maybe it wasn’t very realistic? I don’t see your father blubbering like that when you eventually go in for the kill.” 

“Shut up, Hisoka.” Illumi’s head was dropping. Whatever demonic presence had possessed him minutes ago was gone, leaving big sad fish eyes and hand curled into red-tipped claws.

“I hope you know I wasn’t planning on becoming this involved. I thought we’d fuck, kill your family, and then go our separate ways,” Hisoka continued, running a thumb over his eyebrow.

“You  _ invited  _ yourself on this--” 

“And aren’t you glad I did? That man didn’t hurt you. Yeah, I think he deserved to die, but that wasn’t your revenge to take. That was not closure for you, was it?” 

“No,” Illumi muttered, cowed now. 

“That’s what I thought. Keep that pretty head on your shoulders and let’s get a drink.” 

“I want to go home,” Illumi said lowly. Hisoka’s smile fell from his face and he forced himself to look at Illumi again. 

_ Home? He wanted to go back there? Now?  _ Illumi wiped his hands on the front of his pants and tapped Hisoka in a silent request to follow. 

“Can you call the car?” He asked. There was a beat of silence. “Please?” 

“To the apartment?” Hisoka rasped, voice weak with confusion. Illumi raised an eyebrow over a very tired, very dark eye. 

“Isn’t that what I just said?”  _ Illumi, you said ‘home’.  _

“Right, okay.” Hisoka sent a message to their driver and stared down at the seeping mess of their target’s corpse. His gouged-out eye sockets had sunk in further after his death. They looked like black holes. Hisoka looked away, only to find himself pinned under Illumi’s pensive gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” Illumi said. Hisoka cocked his head. 

“It happens to the best of us,” he said. Illumi found that amusing. His mouth twitched upwards in a sweet half-smile. 

Hisoka’s phone pinged with a message from the driver. 

“Car’s here, let’s go.” 

...

As soon as they got into the car, all the energy Illumi had mustered during the assassination seemed to drain out of him. His head lolled to the side, torso following, until he was pressed up against Hisoka’s shoulder, deadweight. Dark, sweet-smelling hair, as cool and silky as water, tickled Hisoka's neck. He played absently with the ends as Illumi dozed. 

Hisoka had never seen Illumi in a braid, but he bet he would look very nice. 

He told him as much. 

Illumi hummed in response, a deep, gravelly sound that came from his throat. Hisoka felt it in his bones where Illumi was pressed to him. 

“You can braid my hair when we get home,” he added, voice thick with weariness. Hisoka bared his teeth in a delightful grin. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

He got another hum. 

...

Hisoka didn’t even bother turning the lights on. He and Illumi stumbled to their respective rooms and turned on their respective showers, stripped their very different clothes, and collapsed under the spray. 

Hisoka was smiling giddily, the whisper of Illumi’s hair still brushing his neck. He took a cold shower, by necessity, and then threw on the most comfortable clean clothes he had: sweatpants and a shrunken t-shirt that revealed a strip of midriff if he raised his arms. 

Illumi, he saw as he emerged from his room, was in plaid pajama pants--Hisoka’s pants--and a sweatshirt that he didn’t recognize, that fell to mid thigh. Illumi was tall. It meant the sweatshirt had been made for someone massive. 

Illumi’s skin was still pink from the shower. He usually took cold showers. Better for his skin and his hair, he would say primly. 

Hisoka wondered what part of tonight had compelled him to shower hot. 

“Braid my hair,” Illumi demanded. Hisoka snorted. 

“Slow down. I’m going to make some tea. Turn on the TV. There’s a movie I’ve been meaning to watch.” Hisoka pattered into the kitchen and set up a kettle. Illumi was rummaging in the couch cushions for the remote, his slightly damp hair falling to cover his face. He moved like a deer in dense underbrush, careful and light-footed. Funny that someone who behaved like that could be such a predator in action. 

Illumi found the remote and made a little fist in celebration. It was a private gesture, not meant for Hisoka’s eyes. Still, Hisoka saw it, and it made him snort quietly to himself. 

“How do I get to the movie?” Illumi asked. He had settled into the corner of the sectional, remote held between his knees. 

“I’ll come in a second,” Hisoka said, pouring out two mugs, one of tea for himself, the other with plain hot water, something he had learned that Illumi liked. 

The TV was on a documentary about bugs. Illumi watched, enraptured. He didn’t even notice when Hisoka placed the mug in front of him. 

On the screen, a praying mantis bobbed absently on the broad green leaf of a flowering plant. There was a look to it that reminded Hisoka of Illumi--the limbs, the eyes, the way it moved. 

“I want to watch this,” Illumi breathed. Hisoka sighed. 

“Fine. Sit on the floor. I still get to braid your hair.” Illumi obeyed without question, dropping to the floor in between Hisoka’s slightly spread knees. Hisoka took his hair in one hand and separated it into two chunks. 

“Why don’t you wear your hair in braids? I feel like it would be more convenient.” 

“I don’t know how to braid,” Illumi said, eyes fixed to the screen. He brought his mug to his lips and sipped gingerly. 

“You don’t know how?” 

“No.” 

“I’ll teach you later,” Hisoka promised, pulling a hair tie from his wrist and tying off one chunk into a loose bun on the side of Illumi’s head. Then he took the other chunk and began to dutch braid it. Illumi’s head tilted until the side that wasn’t being braided hit Hisoka’s thigh and stayed pressed there, using him as a pillow. Hisoka could feel the warm puff of his breath through his sweatpants. 

The bug documentary continued on. Hisoka found it incredibly boring, but Illumi seemed to enjoy it. He punctuated the silence of the room with quiet,  _ I’ve caught one of those,  _ or,  _ A variety of that one lives in Kukuroo Mountain,  _ or,  _ I think that’s my favorite.  _ Hisoka just hummed absently, not really listening. 

It was clear that the events of tonight were not to be discussed. 

He finished one braid, wrists a little tired--Illumi had even more hair than it seemed he did. However, the braid looked very nice and he liked the warm weight of Illumi’s head on his thigh. 

The cat was finally in his lap, as it were. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you thought! 
> 
> I have a decent amount of the next chapter already written, and the next, but it needs significant polishing, so don't expect anything too soon. I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! This is my first real multi-chapter fic so please be forgiving :)


	4. An Overnight Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illumi and Hisoka get comfortable around each other. Hisoka brings someone home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I would get this chapter out this fast but it literally wrote itself. It's also a fair bit denser than I intended but I was physically unable to stop myself :) 
> 
> This slow burn speeds up a fair bit in this chapter. I was getting impatient lol. Hope you like it!
> 
> ALSO, I've taken some liberties with Illumi's needle abilities. It was necessary to the plot and I wanted to so

“Illu~” Hisoka’s voice rang like a bird call through the apartment. In the three weeks since Illumi’s disastrous job, the tension within the apartment had crescendoed and then pitifully collapsed. Hisoka still braided Illumi’s hair from time to time, but there was none of that heart-wrenching tenderness from that night. Nothing like Illumi’s cheek pressed to the inside of Hisoka’s knee as pale, slender hands worked confidently through sweet black hair. 

Illumi lifted his head from the couch. 

“Whaddya think?” Hisoka slid in the living room, arms held up in a vague, irritating gesture that said:  _ look at me!  _

Illumi did. His eyes widened into moons. 

“Your hair--” He choked out. Hisoka’s hair was a new color. 

“Doesn’t it look good?” He twirled unnecessarily. Hisoka’s outfit itself was uninspiring: just boxer briefs and a large t-shirt that had a cartoon man holding a fishing rod. 

But his hair. 

It was dark, so dark it nearly looked black from far away. Up close, however, what first appeared like black became clearly a deep, velvety red. It was a welcome contrast to his pale complexion, like, Illumi couldn’t help but think, blood on sheets. 

“It looks nice,” he said. For some reason, Hisoka’s bright, garish hair had made it easy to dismiss him, to ignore his rather obvious good looks and tolerate him to only the barest minimum. 

Without the embarrassingly vibrant shock of color, Hisoka had, in an instant, become less of a spectacle and more of a person. A person that Illumi could hardly take his eyes off of.

“Why the change?” He asked, licking his finger and using it to turn the page on his book. It was a weak ruse. He was not reading a single word, no matter how hard he tried to focus his gaze. 

“Ah, I was going to go out tonight. I might bring someone home.” The words on the page swam violently. 

“Then I will be sure to stay in my room,” Illumi said, lips pursing. 

“Unless you wanted to join?” Hisoka asked with a purr. His tone was light, teasing--not serious. 

“No, I’d much rather sit in a dark room by myself, thank you very much.” Hisoka laughed. He laughed at Illumi constantly, as if he was very, very funny. Illumi knew he was not. 

“Oookayyy. I’m going to head out soon. I’ll probably be back pretty late, but if we end up being too loud, just shoot me a text!” Hisoka blew him a kiss and trotted back to his room. Illumi felt his head fall back against the arm of the couch. The book cover dug into his lap. He didn’t even remember what he had been reading. 

In the far corner of the apartment, Hisoka was loudly getting ready, singing along to some frivolous pop song, rustling through his closet and complimenting himself in the mirror.  The music didn’t bother Illumi as much as it used to. Like most things that Hisoka brought to their life, it had merged seamlessly with Illumi’s own image of him, turning the once unfamiliar man into a chimera of things loved and things hated by Illumi. 

Evidently, Hisoka was bubblegum pop and freshly-tossed salads and clothes the color of a child’s playroom. 

He was also the novel sensation of jealousy that burned through Illumi like pins left in too long. 

And the unwrapped delight of leaving the estate for a job that would take many weeks. 

Hisoka was the face he saw now whenever his gut smoldered with desire. When he shoved his pajama pants down to bunch up at his thighs and wrapped a slightly trembling hand around himself, face pressing into one of Hisoka’s too-soft pillows, gasping out in meaningless thought, hoping desperately and fearing desperately that Hisoka could hear him through the walls. 

And he was the euphoric feeling of his mother’s cool fingers pressing to his sweat-slick forehead after a harrowing round of training. 

The song changed, something lower, with a throbbing bass and a crooning melody that Hisoka tried and failed to sing along to. He didn’t have a bad voice, it just wasn’t really his octave. 

...

Hisoka emerged nearly half an hour later in pressed black pants and a black silky button-down shirt that revealed a wide triangle of pale, toned chest. Illumi stared at him without feeling. 

“Do I look good?” Hisoka demanded. He tapped his foot on the floor to emphasize his impatience.

“I guess.” Hisoka made a face, but it gave way for a smile easily. He clomped by Illumi--he was wearing boots--and Illumi caught a waft of his cologne: sweet and cool and crushingly delightful. It smelled like it would taste very good under the tongue. 

“Alright, I’m off,” Hisoka said, shouldering on a black coat. He considered Illumi, on the couch, holding his book, and frowned. 

“You know, you could come? It probably won’t be too crowded today. We could dance…” He said  _ dance  _ like he meant  _ fuck.  _

“No,” Illumi said as politely as he could manage. Hisoka shrugged and grabbed his phone, checking the time absently. 

“Oh, it’s late! See you, Illu.” 

“Bye,” Illumi said. The front door closed and Illumi felt a wave of relief pass over him. Something about the combination of Hisoka’s hair and his cologne was giving Illumi difficulty in a way he couldn’t place.

Without him, the apartment was silent and dim. Hisoka’s odd giraffe sculpture hung over the room like a threat. His other decor--the headless bust of a naked woman, one of her nipples pierced; a framed, faded advertisement for Bungee Gum; a stiletto heel on the mantle above the fireplace, encrusted in what looked like rubies--created an almost alien landscape. It was all so  _ him  _ that it made Illumi feel nauseous, like he was stuck in a place where he didn’t belong. 

Ah, he felt homesick. 

What was wrong with him, to miss a place like the Zoldyck Estate? 

Though, it hadn’t all been bad. He liked sitting in Milluki’s den with his dozens of computer screens. They played video games together, late in the night, usually after Illumi got back from jobs. 

Illumi was secretly very, very good at video games. If he weren’t so busy all the time, he would play them constantly. 

When it came to playing with Milluki, he usually lost on purpose. There was no reason to make his brother upset. Besides, if he kept beating him, he probably wouldn’t be invited back, and Illumi didn’t want that. Beyond his good company, Milluki always had junk food. Sometimes, Illumi would go down there just to watch Milluki type away on his computer and so he could snack on whatever Milluki had stocked up that day. 

He and Killua didn’t hang out much. Every time they’d finish training, Killua would bolt so quickly it left Illumi dazed. 

_ Killua.  _ He was probably with the mountain child in green. Gon.

Illumi checked his phone. Milluki had texted him along with about a dozen unsaved numbers. Nothing from Killua, however. 

Illumi’s lips pursed. He clicked Killua’s contact and called him. The line rang once and then he was hung up on. Illumi called again, undiscouraged. He was hung up on again. Illumi felt himself growing frustrated; his fingers twitched and his teeth began to grind against each other.

He spotted a home phone, old-fashioned, with a rotary and everything, in a bright bubblegum pink, on a table in the foyer. Of course Hisoka would have something like that. He probably didn’t even know how to use it. 

Illumi stood and padded over, feeling a little ashamed at his desperation. 

He almost dialed Killua’s number but he stopped himself. Killua wasn’t an idiot. He would know it was him. 

So, he called Gon. The phone rang in a shrill, buzzy tone, old-fashioned just like the phone itself. 

“Hey, Hisoka!” Gon’s voice was so high and bright it almost instantly gave Illumi a headache. He ignored the disturbing implication that Gon had received calls from Hisoka’s home phone before and with enough frequency that he wasn’t surprised to receive another one. 

“It’s me, Illumi,” he said. Gon’s breath hitched. 

“You’re at Hisoka’s house? No way!” 

“Is that Illumi?” Killua asked warily in the background. Gon hummed in confirmation. Illumi heard a crackle as the phone was handed over to his younger brother. 

“What do you want?” Killua muttered.

“Where are you?” Illumi demanded. He heard Killua scoff. 

“I’m not telling you! I told you, I’m not going back to--” 

“I left the estate,” Illumi said. 

“Hah?” 

“I left the estate. I’m staying with Hisoka. I’m in… an altercation with Mother and Father.” Illumi purposefully left out his plans to kill them. Killua had been raised to be ruthless, but every so often, Gon’s influence bled through, and he got very sensitive about things like murder. 

“Oh.” 

“I just… wanted to make sure you were safe.” There was silence on the other line. Illumi swallowed nervously. 

“I’m not  _ safe  _ but I’m having a lot of fun,” Killua said finally, a smile in his voice. Illumi nodded to himself. That was the best he could hope for. 

“Okay,” he breathed out. “You can--I don’t know why you would, but you can come and stay with Hisoka and I, if you want--or need to. I’m not going to try to bring you back, not anymore.” The implication made itself clear to Killua, Illumi hoped. He had given up on their family. Illumi was sick of being their warden. 

“We should! I want to fight Hisoka again!” Gon shouted in the background. Illumi heard Killua hit him, hard. 

“Okay,” he said warily. “Maybe.” 

“Okay, bye Killua.” He gritted his teeth, then added, “Bye Gon.” 

“Bye!” Gon shouted, his intense hatred for Illumi momentarily forgotten. 

“Bye Illumi,” Killua said, hanging up right after. Illumi set the phone down and felt a wave of something--relief, sadness, maybe a combination of the two--wash over him. 

The clock said it was nearly two in the morning. He had been sitting on the couch thinking about Milluki and the estate for a long time. Hisoka should be back soon. 

Illumi did not want to see who he brought home. He knew Hisoka got up to things like that. He did not miss the purple marks on his throat that looked like bruises or the way he walked around with deep red scratch marks on his back. 

Illumi was uncomfortable about the subject of sex--his upbringing had not been overwhelming sex-positive. Still, he wasn’t a virgin. He knew Hisoka slept around. 

It usually didn’t bother him. 

It bothered him now. 

_ Maybe,  _ Killua had said when Illumi invited him to visit, voice low with suspicion. At least he hadn’t said no. And Gon clearly liked Hisoka now. Maybe they would visit, and Illumi could begin the long road to repairing his relationship with Killua. He used to not care that Killua hated him. As long he stayed in line and didn’t incur Father’s wrath. 

He felt differently, now. It was probably Hisoka’s fault. He hadn’t really had a friend before. 

His line of thought was interrupted by the whirring of Hisoka’s private elevator. 

He was back. 

Illumi slipped into his room and closed the door. He considered locking it but decided against it. That felt shameful somehow, as if he was hiding, and he wasn’t hiding. 

The elevator dinged and spilled two people out into the foyer. He heard the clop of Hisoka’s boots and his low, sultry laugh, and then another voice, also low. A man. 

They fussed around in the kitchen, banging cupboard doors and shuffling around in a way that suggested they were already drunk. 

“I’m terrible at making cocktails,” Hisoka’s date admitted sheepishly. Hisoka proceeded to make a disgusting innuendo with the word “cocktail”. Illumi wanted to scowl at it, but he found himself exhaling a silent laugh instead. 

Hisoka and his guest drank and spoke in the kitchen for a few minutes. Illumi tried to busy himself with brushing his hair but his hair was perfectly brushed already. Damn. 

And then Illumi heard the unmistakable sound of Hisoka laughing into someone else’s mouth. Illumi had never really experienced it before, such a sudden, surging rush of… longing? No, it was something a little redder at the edges, something much darker. He forced himself to stare at his reflection in the mirror of his ensuite bathroom. It was a nice bathroom, with a big walk-in shower and a marble bench inside, and a wide vanity with lots of surface space to put various products. 

As of now, Illumi had a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush sitting there. 

The mirror was wide and could be illuminated at the edges. 

_ For makeup,  _ Hisoka had told him proudly, flicking the lights on and off repeatedly. Illumi hadn't been very impressed at the time. He didn’t wear makeup. 

His reflection was familiar, just a pale, blank face with big, blank eyes and high cheeks. His features couldn’t decide if they wanted him to look feminine or masculine. He had his mother’s nose and her mouth, but his father’s jaw. He had a stronger face than Hisoka, whose face was full lips and elegant, heavily-lashed eyes and a ski-slope nose. Hisoka was a confusing mixture of feminine and masculine, like Illumi, but in his case, it flattered him. Illumi had never met a man so uniquely beautiful. In a different life, a far different life, he would bring Hisoka home to his delightful parents in their estate on the mountain. Kikyo would dote on him, squeezing his sharp cheeks between her hand and cooing at his lucent gold eyes. A few feet off, his father, arms folded over his chest, would nod approvingly at the breadth of Hisoka’s shoulders, the strength of his chest and his thighs, the definition of his arms.

When Illumi smiled unwittingly at the thought, the movement of his lips in the mirror shocked him back to awareness. He was still alone, himself and his reflection. 

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, so close that they set Illumi’s heart to a clambering tempo. He heard them stumble to Hisoka’s room. The door opened and then closed. 

He watched his own face pinch with unhappiness. When it pinched like this, he was the spitting image of his mother. Save for the eyes. No one knew where he got his eyes. 

His grandfather said they were like this because of the honorable burden of being an eldest Zoldyck. Illumi did not think that was true. There was nothing honorable about his burden, Zoldyck in nature or otherwise. 

A moan echoed through the apartment. Illumi could not tell who it was and he didn’t really want to know. He tore his gaze from the mirror and opened his phone. Hisoka had installed Bluetooth speakers everywhere in the apartment. He selected his room and began to play rain sounds, just loud enough that the noises next door melted away. 

Illumi changed into pajamas, Hisoka’s pajamas, and collapsed into the very center of the bed. This rain was far gentler than the rain he and Hisoka had gone grocery shopping in, far gentler than the rain in which Hisoka took Illumi’s mug from his hands and sipped it, maintaining eye-contact like it was a blowjob. 

He fell asleep quickly, dreaming of catching frogs with Milluki and scrubbing mud off a toddler-Killua’s face and watching rain tap relentlessly against an arched window overlooking Kukuroo Mountain. 

...

Illumi woke to the same rain sounds and a very strong need to piss. He rolled out of bed groggily, combing a hand through his mussed hair, encountering one or two easy knots as he went. 

The apartment was blessedly quiet, so Illumi, after relieving himself, deemed it safe to venture outside. 

The apartment was empty. Hisoka and his guest were probably still tired from last night’s activities. Illumi could tell he was scowling. He rubbed at his brow until the wrinkle smoothed out. 

The fridge was full, mostly of healthy things, Hisoka’s preferred diet. Illumi took out eggs and thick slabs of artisanal bacon, and then rummaged through his cupboards until he found a cast-iron skillet. 

He slathered it with a tablespoon of butter, threw three cuts of bacon on the slightly sizzling pan, and then cracked two eggs, one-handed, and spilled them into the pan as well. 

Illumi checked the clock. It was nine in the morning, late, by Hisoka’s standards. Early, for him. 

“Smells good!” An unfamiliar voice shouted. Illumi felt himself stiffen with alarm. He fingered a pin behind his back warily as a man--very tall, broad--meandered into the living area. 

“You’re Illumi!” He was blonde, tan, and smiled with all teeth. Illumi instantly wanted him disposed of. 

“Yes.” 

“Hiso was right, you’re  _ gorgeous _ .” There were two things Illumi needed to unpack in that sentence, the first being  _ Hiso.  _ The man slid onto a seat at the island and propped his chin on his hands. 

“Hisoka’s coming out soon. I think he’s just getting dressed.” 

“Great,” Illumi said. The man was handsome. He drummed his fingers on the counter and mouthed along to some quick-tempoed song. Illumi decided he would deal with slightly undercooked eggs if it meant he could leave right now. 

And then Hisoka appeared. The shirt he was wearing was not his own. It was too big, which was a feat in and of itself. Hisoka was a large person already. 

The shirt was also made of silk, and  _ floral.  _ It fell to mid-thigh, but it fluttered as he walked, revealing much more than that. He was blessedly wearing boxer briefs underneath. 

“Morning,” Hisoka purred, slinking into the kitchen smugly, looking exactly like someone who had just been fucked the night before. 

“I trust you introduced yourself to Illumi?” He wrapped an arm around the slightly larger man, kissing his temple with such affection it made Illumi’s scowl come back.

“Actually, I haven’t! Sorry, Illumi, my name is--” 

“I have a job, I’ve got to get ready,” Illumi said quickly, dumping his breakfast onto his plate and turning off the stove with a quick hand. Hisoka’s eyebrows were raised. His clever eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He just smiled. 

“Have fun, Illu.” 

“I will.” That was a lie. Illumi didn’t have a job today. He was probably just going to go to the public library and read a calculus textbook for three hours, or until he was sure Hisoka’s big blonde guest was gone. 

“He’s odd but totally stunning,” Illumi heard him say to Hisoka as he retired to his room. He felt his lip curl. 

“Told you,” Hisoka replied proudly, as if he had made Illumi with his own bare hands. 

...

Illumi returned to the apartment building late in the afternoon. 

“Excuse me,” he said to the doorman. “Did a tall blonde man leave the apartment recently?” The doorman tapped his chin. 

“Big guy? Handsome?” Illumi’s lip curled up into a sneer. 

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Yeah, he left a while ago, not long after you did actually.” 

“Good, thank you.” 

“Have a good one!” 

As Illumi rode up to Hisoka’s apartment, he willed himself to keep his face expressionless. Even so, he felt relieved. He wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and lie down in his bed and do some critical thinking on why he was so bothered by Hisoka’s one-night stand. 

“Illumi! How was your job?” Hisoka called from the couch. Illumi peered around the corner of the hallway and sighed, barely audible. 

Hisoka had a damp cloth over his eyes and his shirt was gone. Illumi could see fingerprints in red around his narrow waist and teeth marks all over his collarbone. 

“It was fine,” Illumi said, following through on the lie. It wasn’t like Hisoka actually believed it. Illumi kicked off his shoes in the foyer and sat primly on the edge of his favorite loveseat. 

“How was… last night?” He asked slowly, as if it caused him pain. With the cloth over his eyes, it was hard to see Hisoka’s expression, but the quick, dry quirk of his mouth told Illumi all he needed to know. 

“Underwhelming.” 

“You certainly didn’t act like it,” Illumi nearly grumbled. Hisoka waved a hand in the hair, the bright pink on his nails giving Illumi a slight sense of vertigo. 

“Yes, well, often it’s easier that way. I suppose you wouldn’t understand, with you being such a virgin and all.” 

“I’m not--”

“He was so  _ clingy _ and  _ overenthusiastic _ . It was disgusting. I like being the one doing the clinging, if you couldn’t tell.” Illumi could. 

“And he  _ insisted  _ on topping, which I’m not always opposed to, but it’s not what I prefer. Overall, just an inconvenient evening that I could have recreated with my hand very easily, and with far less laundry to do.” Illumi didn’t know why his shoulders deflated with relief. What was he holding his breath for? Hisoka, as always, noticed, hearing the way the air rushed from Illumi’s teeth. 

“What, were you jealous?” 

“No.” 

“I invited you to join!”

“You were joking,” Illumi pointed out bitterly. Hisoka lifted the edge of his cloth and fixed one brilliant golden eye on Illumi. The skin around his eyes was slightly pink from the hot cloth. His eyebrow raised in a thin arc and then lowered a moment later. 

“Illumi, why would I be joking about something like that?” 

“Why--” 

“See,” Hisoka said with a sigh, lowering the cloth again. “You say you’re not a virgin, and then you pull something like this.” 

“Pull  _ what _ ?” 

“Have you ever even been flirted with before?” Hisoka asked, ignoring Illumi’s question. 

“I feel I’m being mocked,” Illumi said coolly, standing up and excusing himself to the kitchen. Hisoka snorted. He could hear Illumi open the fridge. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“Making lunch,” Illumi said shortly. 

“Can you make me something?” 

“No.”

“Sorry, let me rephrase. Illumi, please make me lunch in my own kitchen with my own food and bring it to me in my own living room on one of my own plates. Thanks.” Hisoka heard Illumi slam one of the cupboards shut, hard. 

“For the record,” he added through gritted teeth. “I was not fucking jealous.” Hisoka laughed so hard that the cloth fell from his eyes. 

...

“Hisoka,” Illumi said suddenly, a few days later. Hisoka’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. He set it down and smiled imploringly. His attentiveness was flattering, if… dog-like. 

“I have a job tonight and you can’t come.” 

“Good for you, Illumi! I know escorting isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but--” 

“You’re not funny,” Illumi said flatly. Hisoka made a face that suggested he thought he was. 

“I’m a little funny,” he added, for good measure. 

“It’s an assassination job,” Illumi continued, clearly irritated that he had to clarify. “It won’t be difficult. I’ll be back before midnight.” 

“Okay. Then I might go out,” Hisoka said, cocking his head in thought. 

“That’s fine,” Illumi said. 

“Thanks for the permission, dear,” Hisoka replied, picking his spoon back up and licking it. 

“Whatever,” Illumi muttered. Hisoka propped his elbow up on the table and put his chin in his hand. It smushed his cheek upward, narrowing his eye. It was an endearing expression. 

“What?” Illumi demanded, wondering for a second if Hisoka had caught him staring. 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re looking at me,” Illumi pointed out sourly. Hisoka saw him every day. Why was he looking? 

“What? I can’t look at you?” Hisoka asked, leaning forward slightly. 

“It’s weird.” 

“I like looking at you.” 

“I’m glad you’re so easily entertained.” Hisoka raised an eyebrow in an expression that suggested he disagreed, but he said nothing more. Illumi took the silence and reclined in it, eyes half-closing in relief. He could feel the warmth of the sun streaming in from the apartment’s windows. This place was so much brighter than the estate. 

Most of the time, it was pleasant. 

Sometimes, however, Illumi felt like an ant under a magnifying glass, like the sun was flushing out every curve and pore, rendering him as featureless as a stone. 

He cracked an eye open and checked to see if Hisoka was still staring. 

He was, though, this time, it was without any awareness that he was being watched. The teasing smile was gone. In its place was an expression hard for Illumi to place. 

To call it fond would be egotistical, and wrong. His brows were furrowed slightly, lips still curled up, though Illumi suspected that was simply the natural fall of Hisoka’s pretty mouth. His eyes swam with unknowable things, and it made Illumi desperate to know. 

“How--” Hisoka rasped out, startling himself with the sound of his own voice. “How long do you plan on staying?” The second question, tucked into the pocket of silence that followed, was:  _ When are you going to kill your parents?  _

Illumi opened both eyes and blinked. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, which disturbed him. He had come to Hisoka with a plan burning in his mind like a sunspot. A few weeks of lazing around a penthouse with Hisoka and he was losing his focus. It was the kind of thing Silva would cite as a reason for his lack of suitability as heir. 

Though Killua seemed to be far deeper entrenched in his relationship with Gon, whatever that may be. 

Perhaps these things--attachments--were simply too human to be beaten out of you, even if your parents had started very early, and with the cruelest of methods. It was unfair that Silva had been so adamant about this, a life with no love. 

He had Kikyo, didn’t he? 

At that moment, Illumi winced, loud enough that Hisoka cocked his head in confusion. He had just likened Hisoka to his wife. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka said politely. 

“Hm?” 

“Whatcha thinking about?” He laced his fingers in front of him, tapping his pointer finger to his opposite knuckle in a distracting stattaco. Hisoka was still looking at him, and this time, Illumi was confident in calling it fondness. His mouth was soft, pink and bitten, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for an answer to his question. 

And his eyes, as warm and rich as well-steeped tea. Hisoka looked like he should have yellow eyes, like acid, but he had been given gold. Eyes so golden they didn’t seem real, and they were fixed on him with unwavering focus. 

Hisoka could look all he wanted, then, if he liked it so much. 

...

There was a woman in his apartment. She was sitting on the couch in a short, tight, black dress, with razor-thin straps and a flat neckline. The dress was ridden up to reveal the pale, smooth expanse of long thighs. 

Her position was odd: shins tucked under her thighs, legs spread rather lazily, her butt resting on her heels. She was picking absently at the nail polish on her fingers, nose wrinkled in concentration. She was very beautiful, certainly Hisoka’s type. Her hair was long and black silky and there was an energy to her limbs, like at any moment, she might leap from the couch and attack him. 

For good measure, Hisoka sent a card flying at her. She was intruding in his home after all. It impaled itself into the couch, right in between her spread thighs. 

She didn’t even flinch. 

“It’s me,” she said. Oh, that was a familiar voice. Hisoka squinted and then smiled.

“Illumi? You’re a woman!” 

“I certainly look like one, yes.” 

“This was for your job?” Hisoka asked, the shock giving way to cruel delight. 

“Mhm. I had to kill someone who liked pretty, dark-haired women.” This was where Illumi’s vanity peeked through the cracks ever so slightly. He was practically a more feminine version of himself. It was a silent, almost humorous, display of conceit, and Hisoka loved it. 

“You look very pretty, Illumi.” 

“I have to change back,” he sighed. “But it’s so unpleasant.” Illumi’s more feminine face tilted up, like a flower to the sun. Hisoka found his eyes falling to Illumi’s chest--the soft, graceful swell of breasts. How did he do that with pins? 

Much of Illumi’s powers were a mystery to him. Hisoka supposed he meant it to be that way.

“It hurts?” Hisoka asked, setting his coat on the hook by the door. 

“It’s…” Illumi searches for the word, a nail-polished hand waving slightly. “Disquieting.” 

Disquieting indeed. They wavered in the apartment, Illumi sitting in that weird way, Hisoka standing, a forgotten card still between his fingers. 

In the distance, an ambulance wailed. The apartment looked like the inside of a warehouse: huge and empty and cold. Hisoka wondered, suddenly, unnecessarily, if Illumi liked it, his apartment. Despite its luxury, he was probably used to even more extravagance. Hisoka could only imagine the Zoldyck estate in all its glory. 

He had a feeling Illumi slept in a four-poster bed, with a dark, velvety canopy and curtains to match. He could see a thick Persian carpet on the floor, and expensive herringbone hardwood floors underneath. At the foot of the bed, there would be a leather trunk, and inside… Hisoka closed his eyes, deep in thought.

Inside, there would be old toys, deeply-loved stuffed animals, but the expensive kind, with handknit bodies and big, glassy eyes. He imagined old leather journals and half-finished drawings. 

Illumi seemed like the kind of person who drew as a child. 

Maybe there were porn magazines and condoms in that trunk, though, and a handle of watered-down vodka. Maybe it was filled with sweatshirts and broken flip phones and the scuffed cartridges of long-beaten video games. 

God, he didn’t know Illumi at all, did he? 

“Where’d you get the dress?” He croaked finally. Illumi exhaled from his nose in a quick, quiet puff. 

“I bought it.” 

“It looks like it was expensive,” Hisoka said. Illumi picked off a large flake of nail polish from his thumbnail and then looked up. 

“It was.” 

“Did it come off?” Hisoka’s voice was soft and dark, no hint of that usual cloying amusement. He imagined that sometimes, Illumi had to go very far for the sake of a job. His target was probably an older gentleman, probably rich, a frequenter of expensive bars and clubs. It made sense, then, for Illumi to have to buy a dress like that. 

Though Illumi was in every sense awkward, Hisoka could imagine he became very confident with a few pins stuck in him. He probably approached the man first, maybe put a hand on his arm, maybe he sipped his drink, ran his tongue over the salted rim of the glass, and then sucked an olive off its toothpick. Maybe he offered it up on his tongue, black eyes flashing like mirrors. 

“The dress?” Illumi asked, knowing full well that Hisoka did mean the dress. Hisoka didn’t humor him. He just lowered his brows in confirmation and waited. 

“Almost,” Illumi admitted a second later. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Hisoka could imagine that Illumi had dealt with far, far worse. 

But that didn’t really matter, because now he was thinking of a fat, wrinkled hand snaking under the edge of Illumi black dress and wrapping around his waist. Illumi probably didn’t need to do much to his waist. It was already so, so small. 

“I’m going to bed,” Illumi whispered suddenly. He was shorter like this, shoulder’s slighter, eyes even bigger, features even more delicate. Despite the deliberate softness, however, he had still failed to mask himself entirely. Even right now, Illumi looked very much like someone who killed people for a living. His nature bled through like black dye. 

Who was he kidding? There were probably not porn magazines and video game cartridges in that trunk in his bedroom. 

“Goodnight then,” Hisoka whispered back. Why on earth were they whispering? Illumi tugged the hem of his dress down. It kept riding up, revealing more and more thigh. His legs were slightly slimmer than usual, but more or less the same. 

His ass was the same, too. And by the same, Hisoka meant gorgeous. 

“Illumi,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. Liquid black eyes met glinting gold ones. Illumi had to look up at Hisoka like this, an eyebrow raised in a gentle question. Hisoka leaned forward until their noses nearly met. Illumi’s breath smelled of pulped mint leaves, like he had drained a mojito or a mint gimlet earlier that evening. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka repeated again, just for the fun of it. He liked saying Illumi’s name. He had a feeling people didn’t use it much. His parents probably called him  _ son  _ or  _ dear  _ or something loveless. His targets probably called him something even more loveless. And Illumi didn’t have friends beside him. 

So Hisoka tried to wear his name out. 

“Illumi,” he said one last time. Illumi’s breath hitched. It was definitely a gimlet. He could smell the floral kiss of gin. 

“Yes,” Illumi rasped. 

“Does this mean you’re wearing lingerie right now?” Hisoka could hear a pin drop in the apartment.

Soft, welling eyes hardened into steel. 

“You fucking--” Hisoka backed off and laughed, hands held up in a lazy request for mercy. Illumi was seething. 

“You’re a pervert, you know that?” 

“I swear the last person who called me that was your little br--” Illumi’s hand wrapped around Hisoka’s throat and slammed him so hard into the opposing wall of the hallway that a painting a few feet away fell from its hook. 

“You’re so--” Illumi cut himself off. His teeth were bared like he was in pain. His grip on Hisoka’s throat loosened, slightly, and Hisoka let out a wheezing laugh. 

“ _ Annoying _ ,” Illumi finished with a snarl. He fully pulled his hand away, rubbing it against his arm irritably. 

“Goodnight, Illu.” 

“Whatever.” Hisoka watched the pink flash of his soles as he padded down the hall and slipped into his room, closing the door with a gentle click. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've been sitting on this chapter for a while. Illumi's transformation abilities have always fascinated me, especially when Hisoka is thrown into the mix. This was the most enjoyable chapter I've written and I hope it shows?   
> As always, please let me know what you think! Comments honestly really motivate me; even if I don't reply to all of them, I read each and every one!
> 
> I know I said this last time, but I think the next chapter is going to come out a bit slower. Still, it shouldn't take much longer than a week or so.


	5. The Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to get out? I've had a crazy busy week and things just took longer than expected. Enjoy!

Illumi hadn’t been wearing lingerie under his dress. He had been wearing compression shorts because as much as his pins could do, they couldn’t do everything. 

He didn’t tell Hisoka this, mostly because he didn’t think he deserved to know. Even still, the question, the nature of the question, rang around in Illumi’s head like loose change. 

He knew of Hisoka’s sexual interest in him, perhaps not the extent of it, but he knew it existed. Hisoka had made it punishingly clear over the course of his nearly two months with him. 

It had started with his disturbingly bold innuendos, the perverted remarks, the lingering stares which ended with blood-rushing eye-contact. And then it became more, it became, without Illumi even meaning it to, the two of them in the living room in the middle of the night, Illumi’s skin burning from countless pins, mouth dry and tasting of gin. His head felt light. He had been fed too many cocktails. The straps of his dress were digging unpleasantly into his shoulders. 

And Hisoka had been staring with the oddest expression on his face. 

Illumi had pretended to be offended by the question about the lingerie, but in truth, it had frightened him, jolted him out of a haze and plunged him into freezing water. 

What if he had been wearing lingerie? Would Hisoka have asked to take it off? 

He would have probably let him

“Illumi,” Hisoka murmured. 

“Illumi.” 

“Illumi, darling.” 

Illumi blinked back to life, head swimming. They were in the dining room, perched on Hisoka’s impractical architectural chairs, pouring over the rough blueprints of the Zoldyck estate. 

Illumi had been drawing up assassination plans for over a decade. They were necessary for more elaborate, challenging jobs, especially when they involved multiple people.

This one was his most difficult yet. 

“It’s late,” Illumi muttered, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. He pressed too hard and the image of that client’s father flashed across his mind. Thumbs in eye sockets, pressing until he felt something burst. 

“Let’s sleep, then,” Hisoka said, sounding very much awake. Illumi stood, glancing back at the messy plans with exasperation. 

“We’re nowhere close to a feasible plan,” he said. Hisoka shrugged. 

“Do we even need a plan?” 

“Yes,” Illumi growled. Hisoka snorted, tapping Illumi’s nose with his pointer finger. 

“Okayyy,” he sang. His finger lingered. Illumi felt himself go cross-eyed to stare at it. Hisoka waited patiently, a smug smile on his mouth. 

For all his pervertedness, Hisoka was very polite when it came down to it. 

It was because of this that Illumi had to initiate the kiss. 

Illumi felt Hisoka chuckle against his mouth. His lips were softer than his own, and they tasted sweet, like bubblegum. 

“About time,” he said delightedly. Illumi kissed him harder, determined to, for once, shut Hisoka up. 

* * *

The last time Illumi had sex, his hair was about five inches shorter. He’d engaged in almost-intercourse with targets since then, but they never got very far. Certainly not as far as he and Hisoka were going. 

Illumi had only been in Hisoka’s bedroom a few times. 

It was immaculate and the bed was massive. Illumi found the implications of the latter to be concerning. He didn’t want to think of the other people Hisoka entertained on this very big bed. 

Hisoka nibbled at his ear, teasing, coy. His hands slid up Illumi’s waist, coming to the center of his back and pulling him flush against his front. 

He was very hard. 

Illumi felt himself being pushed back onto the bed gently. Hisoka was surprisingly gentle but his soft touch belied a moored strength. Illumi would meet resistance if he pushed back hard enough. 

Hisoka scooted Illumi up against the headboard and sat on his knees between Illumi’s spread legs. For a moment, they sat there, facing each other, eyes alight with a similar intensity.

“You’re laughing,” Illumi noted sourly. Hisoka  _ was _ laughing. He had his thumbs tucked into the waistband of Illumi’s pajamas, and his shoulders were shaking silently. Illumi felt his cheeks turn red. 

“Stop laughing,” he demanded. Hisoka kissed his hip bone. 

“I’m  _ happy, _ ” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not allowed to laugh?”

“Not when you’re taking my clothes off, Hisoka.” His smile turned serious. 

“Who said I was taking your clothes off?” His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin just above Illumi’s groin, rubbing in gentle circles. 

“Hisoka,” Illumi bit out. 

Without warning, Hisoka tugged Illumi’s pajamas down and his cock sprang free, already very hard, glistening at the tip, and running almost pink. Illumi tried very hard to maintain eye contact, even when Hisoka leaned forward and licked the precum sparkling at his head. 

Illumi had a pretty cock, which wasn’t surprising. It, like him, was well-proportioned, slender, but not too thin, and it turned the loveliest pinkish color when given the right amount of attention. 

Right now, Illumi was pink all over. 

Hisoka placed devoted kitten licks all over the head, smiling in self-satisfaction as Illumi’s piercing gaze weakened in resolve and his head tossed back, cheeks burning, to stare at the ceiling. His throat bobbed and it was audible in the otherwise silent room. 

“You’re very quiet,” Hisoka breathed. He saw Illumi’s cock twitch under the gust of warmth. 

“Yeah?” Illumi rasped, voice very low, very rough.

“Yeah, I figured you’d be a screamer.” Illumi snorted, stomach flexing, cock bobbing slightly. 

“I don’t do that.” 

“Knock on wood,” Hisoka said, right before swallowing Illumi down to the base. 

Illumi gasped, loud and shaky, and his hands, which had been curled into loose fists, dug desperately into the bedsheets. Hisoka willed his throat to relax. He choked for a split second, pulled up an inch or two, and then sank back down again, taking the saliva dripping down Illumi’s length and dragging his hand lower. 

Illumi made a surprised sound and his thighs clamped together, trapping Hisoka’s arm between them. 

“No?” Hisoka asked, pulling completely off Illumi’s cock and tilting his head like a puppy. 

He’d been joking when he said it, but Illumi did really look like a virgin right now. His eyes were wide and wet and his cheeks were so pink it looked like he’d been struck across the face. 

“What?” Illumi asked dumbly. Hisoka felt a fond smiling coming on. He stroked up and down Illumi’s inner thigh, watching in delight as he twitched involuntarily. 

“You didn’t seem like you wanted--”

“No,” Illumi interrupted quickly. Strands of flyaway hairs were plastered to his neck with sweat. Hisoka hadn’t seen Illumi sweat before, he realized. 

“No,” he said again slower, “I want to.” There was a beat of silence. Hisoka still had one hand wrapped around the base of Illumi’s cock. He could feel his pulse against his palm. It was rapid, like a rabbit’s. 

“We don’t have to,” Hisoka said seriously. 

“I want to,” Illumi said again. “Just--” He bit at his lip, worrying at it until he found the right words. “I’ve never been fucked. I’ve always been the one doing the fucking. So, go slow.” The admission surprised Hisoka, and it seemed to surprise Illumi too, going by the look on his face. 

“Please,” Illumi added as an afterthought. 

“I’ve got you,” Hisoka said with a toothy grin. Illumi’s nose wrinkled, but he said nothing more. His head fell back onto the pillow and he spread his legs once more, one thigh turned outward, the other extended straight. 

Hisoka leaned over him, one hand on the inside of his knee, to grab a bottle of lube and a condom from his nightstand. Illumi eyed both things warily. 

No, not warily: determinedly. 

Hisoka poured a decent amount on his fingers and rubbed with his thumb, warming it slightly. 

“Flip over,” he said to Illumi. He nearly laughed at his expression. 

“Why?” He demanded, indignant. Hisoka leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his sneering mouth. 

“‘Cause I want you to.” Illumi grumbled something rude, something Hisoka was used to hearing by now, and slowly rolled onto his stomach. His shoulder blades glided beautifully under his skin as he propped himself up on his elbows. Hisoka traced the muscle of his back absently with the hand not dripping with lube. 

“Come on,” Illumi said quietly, glancing over his shoulder. Hisoka smiled so widely he felt like a child. 

“Hm?” He asked for the fun of it, moving from in between Illumi’s legs to the spot right by his side. From here, he could see Illumi’s face and everything else. His knees pressed against Illumi’s ribcage. He stroked up his back again, watching in delight as an involuntary shiver went through him. 

“Come on,” Illumi repeated irritably, glaring now. Hisoka brushed the hair off his back, tucking it over one side of his neck. Illumi had remarkably perfect skin, with neither a freckle or a blemish in sight. Hisoka kissed a gentle line down his spine. Up close, his skin smelled like the lingering traces of detergent and the peppermint body wash which Hisoka kept stocked in the guestroom. He had purchased it a few months ago, only to discover it disagreed with his sensitive skin. There was something arousing about the fact that Illumi used it now, something unidentifiable. 

“Off your elbows,” Hisoka said between kisses. 

“Stop telling me what to do,” Illumi grunted back. 

Hisoka grabbed a pillow and with his lubed hand, he wrapped an arm around Illumi’s hips and lifted him, sliding the pillow just under, so his ass was propped up. The sound Illumi made was so breathy and surprised his ears turned red immediately after. 

He slowly got off his elbows, pillowing his head on his folded arms. Hisoka kissed his shoulder this time, gleeful. 

“Thank you,” he said. Illumi gave him no response, just another long breath. 

Hisoka ran a hand up and down Illumi’s side, marveling at the slight ridging of ribcage he could feel with his fingertips. Illumi was strong, but he was slender. 

“You’ve got a lovely back, Illumi.” 

“Can you get on with it?” For emphasis, Illumi grinded down on the pillow wedged under his hips. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Hisoka asked. 

“I’m hard,” Illumi bit out. 

“I am too.” 

“Then get on with it,” he said, exasperated. 

“Is sex with you always going to be like this?” Hisoka asked, rubbing one hand over Illumi’s spine and pressing the other one much lower. Illumi’s breath hitched. 

Hisoka circled his entrance lazily. The lube on his fingers was drying out now. He would need to reapply some more, but for now, he enjoyed the slightly-frictioned teasing. And Illumi seemed to as well. 

“Are you like this with everyone you have sex with?” Hisoka continued, stroking Illumi’s back still. He could feel the slight tremor of his ribcage, could see the flex of muscle in his thighs as he tried to press even more against the pillow under his hips. 

One-handed, Hisoka uncapped the lube and slicked up the same two fingers, this time, not bothering to warm them up. 

He gave Illumi little warning, just the slightest of pressure from the hand on his spine, before pushing his index finger in, all the way to the base of his palm. Illumi let out a sound, muffled from the pillow.

“Or are you only like this with me?” Hisoka went on, curling his finger slightly. Illumi gasped, grinding back into his palm. He wasn’t expecting an answer, and Illumi didn’t seem at all equipped to give one. 

“Two?” Hisoka asked, already pressing his second finger to Illumi’s entrance. Illumi nodded immediately. 

“You have to say it,” Hisoka said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. Illumi made a strangled sound of frustration, a sound Hisoka had heard before, albeit in far tamer contexts. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Illumi gritted out. His voice was lower than usual, with a rougher quality, like he had just been crying, or yelling, or like he hadn’t spoken all day. 

“Where was I?” Hisoka mused, pressing in a second finger. This time, he got an actual vocalization. Illumi cried out, hips jerking away and then towards Hisoka's touch. His fists tightened their grip in the bedsheets. 

Briefly, Hisoka thought of Killua’s sharp assassin claws and hoped, for the sake of his bed linens, that Illumi did not have the same ability. 

“Where was I, Illumi?” Hisoka asked, pushing in hard and then scissoring his fingers apart, beginning to spread him properly. 

Illumi shook his head silently, shoulders shaking now. 

“Hm?”

“ _ I don’t know. I don’t _ \--” He lost the last of his sentence to another drawn-out moan. His skin was starting to slick with sweat. Hisoka’s lingering palm on his spine was as hot as a brand, keeping him still on the bed with the gentlest of pressure. 

“Oh, I remember,” Hisoka purred. He patted Illumi’s thigh. “I asked you if you were only like this with me.” Hisoka’s fingers pressed and rubbed until they found what they had been looking for. At that, Illumi jerked, crying out into the mattress pitifully. One of his hands flew back, seemingly to stop Hisoka, but it faltered when it made contact with Hisoka’s wrist. Prostate.

Hisoka stroked Illumi’s hair with his free hand. 

“Well? Is it true?”

“I don’t--” 

“Are you only like this with me?” Hisoka asked patiently. Illumi finally twisted his head to look at Hisoka. His eyes were wet and bleary, cheeks bright red. Sweat had gathered in a few drops at his temple. Hisoka felt compelled to lick it off. 

Illumi glared rather weakly. 

“Why--” He shuddered as Hisoka worked his fingers harder. “Why are you talking so much?” 

“I like talking to you,” Hisoka said sincerely. 

“I want to--” 

“You never answered my question,” Hisoka pointed out with a pout. 

“Yes, just with you.” Hisoka seemed pleased enough with the answer. He kissed Illumi’s temple and gently pushed his head back into the pillow. He pulled his fingers all the way out and then plunged them back in. Illumi let out a strangled sound, thighs attempting to close around Hisoka’s arm again. 

“Three?” He asked moments after. Illumi nodded dazedly. 

“Illu,” He sighed, “You have to say it, come on.” 

“Yes,” Illumi croaked. 

“Yes, what?” Hisoka didn’t want to push too far. He did want to have sex after all, but Illumi was making it so  _ easy.  _

“Yes, three,” Illumi half-snarled. That was good enough. Hisoka squeezed a bit more lube onto his fingers and then slid a third in. Illumi seemed to have himself under control now. All he did was whimper, a combination of relief and pleasure. 

His hips lifted with Hisoka’s thrusts, chasing when he wanted more and jerking away when it seemingly got too much. 

“I’m ready,” he gasped suddenly. 

“Flip over,” Hisoka said quietly. Illumi rolled onto his back with a gusty breath. His chest and stomach were slightly pink from the friction of the sheets. His cock was achingly hard, red at the tip and glistening. Hisoka absently stroked it as he slathered himself with more lube. Illumi’s harsh, pitiless gaze was pliant and soft. He hiked one leg up, the muscle along his inner thigh flexing. 

Hisoka stroked up and down the outside of his thighs soothingly. 

“Ready?” There was no teasing lilt in his voice, just wide, serious eyes as gold as a desert sunset and a firm line for a mouth. 

“Ready.” 

Hisoka lined himself up and with a stuttered groan, pushed in. Illumi gasped silently, nails digging into Hisoka’s bicep. They didn’t break eye contact, not even when Hisoka bottomed out and he let out an overwhelmed little laugh, more air than sound. 

“Hisoka,” Illumi said quietly. Glimmering eyes lifted, half-squinted in pleasure. 

“Yes, darling?” His voice was strained, arms trembling. Illumi’s eyes were very serious, very dark, with that same fixed intensity he wore when he was killing someone, or watching television. Illumi’s face twisted as Hisoka gave a light thrust. 

“Illumi?” Hisoka prompted gently. He couldn't keep the waver out of his voice, like he was a fifteen-year-old virgin. 

“I’m in love with you,” Illumi said. 

Hisoka came. 

“ _ Illumi, _ ” Hisoka half-shouted in shock, gasping into his shoulder. He gave a weak laugh, a laugh that shook his entire body. Illumi’s erection was hot and hard against his stomach, and wet. 

“Did you just come?” Illumi demanded, eyebrows knit together. Hisoka’s laugh petered out and then started again. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that, Illumi!” He was slick with sweat, though in fairness, some of it was probably Illumi’s. 

“Why? It’s true?” Illumi’s nose was wrinkled in indignation. Hisoka pulled his face from Illumi’s shoulder and sat back on his heels. They both looked very sex-ruffled, which was funny, considering how long the actual sex had lasted. 

“It can’t be true, Illumi, we haven’t even--” 

“I’m in love with you.”

“You’re not.” 

“I am!” 

“Tell me why you’re in love with me,” Hisoka demanded. For good measure, he grabbed Illumi’s erection, lips twitching as Illumi gurgled in surprise, and began to stroke him. 

“Uhm--”

“Why are you in love with me?” Hisoka repeated. Illumi snarled, bucking hard into his hand. 

“I was thinking--ah--that if you died right now, I would want to kill myself.” Hisoka’s hand slowed to a stop. Illumi stared up at him defiantly, looking almost pleased, as if he had just proved his point masterfully.

“You were thinking of me dying during sex?” Hisoka asked incredulously.

“I’m in love with you, why won’t you say it back?” 

“Because you’re not--” Hisoka trailed off in frustration. He didn’t know how to explain this to Illumi, that the way that he “loved” people was creepy and unhealthy and bordered on abusive, that obsession was not love. 

Of course he loved Illumi. He had not expected it, but of course he did. The problem was Illumi had no idea what that meant. 

“You just want me to yourself, Illumi. That’s just… being attached. You don’t  _ love  _ me.”

“I do,” Illumi said angrily now. 

“It’s not love, it’s resource-guarding.” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” Illumi’s eyes were huge and round and bottomless. Hisoka swallowed nervously. 

“Because--”

“I’ve stayed with you for three months. I know you. I know what you like. I know that I love you.” 

“Okay, Illu,” Hisoka said gently. 

“Say it back,” Illumi demanded, brows knit together. 

“Illumi--” Hisoka paused. He still had Illumi’s cock in his hand, and he was still very hard, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes were focused helplessly on Hisoka. His stomach rose and fell quickly. 

“Say it back,” Illumi said again, quietly now, voice cracking slightly. Hisoka swallowed. He hadn’t meant for this to happen: this irreversible entwining. 

Because it was irreversible. They wouldn’t be able to go about their lives, pretending these few months hadn’t happened. It wasn’t possible. Hisoka couldn’t even use Nen anymore without thinking of Illumi, thinking of his own power, thinking of a dark purple aura and the crazed whites of his big eyes, hair flaring up like the hackles of a threatened animal. Hisoka couldn’t even lay on Texture Surprise without thinking of Illumi tapping the freckles on his forearms. 

_ You’re so fair, you don’t even tan, you just freckle,  _ he had said. Hisoka had been sour, rubbing his arms self-consciously. 

_ I don’t like them. You’re one of the few people who’s seen me without my makeup done.  _

_ I hate your makeup,  _ Illumi had sniffed.  _ It looks terrible and ugly. And I like your freckles much better.  _ He glided out of the kitchen after that, seemingly unaware of what he had left behind. 

And what he had left behind was a deeply blushing Hisoka, so red that his ears were burning, his hands still rubbing over his forearms, but with the soft reverence of someone re-understanding himself. Hisoka took care not to lay Texture Surprise over his freckles, at least whenever Illumi was around. 

“Hisoka?” Illumi croaked. His voice was terribly threadbare now, like someone had worn it down with the heel of their palm. Hisoka blinked back to awareness and felt a hand stroking his thigh. It was absent, certainly not purposeful, but the sight of Illumi’s neatly manicured thumb sliding over the faded freckles on his thighs was like a deep inhale in a snowstorm. 

“I love you, too,” he said, finally. Illumi’s gaze wavered, searching, perhaps for the lie. 

“I mean it,” Hisoka added seriously. “I love you very much, Illumi. I have had for a bit now, and I would like it if you stayed here with me indefinitely, until one of us is inevitably defeated by Gon in a match to the death.” Illumi’s mouth cracked into a challenging smile at that. 

“Gon is weak. Resolve does not supplement a lack of training, a lack of stability, an inability to assess--” 

“Illumi, let’s not do that now,” Hisoka said gently. He watched, satisfied, as Illumi’s head dropped back onto the pillow, hair fanning out like he was in a cover shoot. 

“I love you,” Hisoka repeated, giddily now. Illumi’s chest stuttered out a breath. 

“I love you, too.” A weighty silence took over the room, like the last, half-blank page of a novel. Illumi was staring at Hisoka with all the focus and intent of a dog. His gaze was strong, certain, but his cheeks were still flushed from sex, hair still damp. His throat was pinkened and purpled by Hisoka’s mouth. 

“Hisoka,” Illumi whispered. Hisoka’s eyes flashed as they lifted to stare at Illumi. Fondness emanated from him, the kind of fondness he parodied often with that smug smile and those upturned fox eyes. It was real now, as warm and as brilliant as a summer day. 

“Are you still going to get me off?” The spell broke. Hisoka stared down at Illumi’s groin, a mess of lube and spit and cum. Notably, Hisoka’s cum and not Illumi’s. Illumi was still incredibly hard. 

“Ah, sorry dear,” Hisoka said, smiling wickedly now that he had gotten his bearings back. Illumi threw an arm over his eyes, sighing contentedly. 

“Get on with it, then.” 

* * *

Hisoka slept like a bastard. He smiled in his sleep and he clasped his hands in his lap like he was plotting something. There was no movement, no hint of restlessness, just a man laying perfectly still on his back, eyes closed, swimming in peace. 

It made Illumi a little embarrassed by his insomniatic behavior--his tendency to curl and stretch and rotate and kick. He woke up every few hours or so, a nasty side-effect from training as a child, and the little sleep he did get was fraught with nightmares. 

It was better with Hisoka in his bed, though, as if his smug self-satisfaction was rubbing off on Illumi and diluting all of his associated trauma-related issues. 

Like a very unorthodox emotional support animal. 

Illumi leaned in close to Hisoka until he could smell the sweetness of his shampoo. This was probably the kind of thing Killua would scold him for, if he were here. 

_ You’re being creepy!  _

He didn’t care. As gently as he could make it, Illumi kissed Hisoka’s velvety-soft cheek and whispered, “ _ I love you. _ ” He would never get tired of saying it. He had never said it before. It hadn’t been required by his mother or father. He had wanted to say it to Killua, but he knew how that would have gone over. He might have said it to Milluki at some point, and he probably will, when he sees him again. 

“Illumi?” Hisoka rasped, cracking an eye open. “I love you very much, dear, but please stop with the staring. It’s very creepy and it’s setting my Nen off. I keep waking up thinking I’m about to get assassinated.” 

“I’m sorry,” Illumi said, flopping back down onto the bed. Hisoka grinned sleepily. 

“Go to sleep.” 

“Okay.” Illumi stared up at the ceiling. 

He had been asked before by many people:  _ How do you sleep at night?  _ It was rhetorical, he knew. 

Still, the answer was not well. 

He felt the covers rustle and then suddenly a large, warm hand slithered under his lower back and wrapped around his waist, dragging him disturbingly effortlessly across the bed and rolling him right on top of Hisoka. Illumi melted like butter. 

“Will you sleep, please?” Hisoka whispered in his ear. Illumi felt a hand stroking up his back, slow and certain. 

“Mhm,” Illumi hummed back. Hisoka kissed his ear and they both sank into the easy, pressed-together sleep that generally only blessed young litters of furry animals. 

* * *

Hisoka woke in the middle of the night to Illumi’s face buried in his neck and his leg thrown over Hisoka’s waist. It was an almost acrobatic position. 

Illumi’s breath puffed soft and warm against his neck, hair slightly damp from last night and fragrant. His body was punishingly hot, like a feverish child’s.

_ I love you,  _ Illumi had said, with an unknowable passion. Hisoka wasn’t exactly sure when he fell in love with Illumi. He was enchanted from their first meeting: Hisoka had been a gangly teenager and Illumi was a slender tween who looked like a girl. 

“Do you get bullied for that?” Hisoka had asked, grinning. Illumi looked like the kind of child who cried easily. 

“For what?” 

“For looking like a girl.” 

“I’m not a girl.” 

“You look like one. A pretty girl, though, so it’s no big deal.” 

“Leave me alone,” Illumi had said, the tip of a pin glinting coldly in the pale morning light. From that moment on, Hisoka was hooked. 

He had been expecting their inevitable union to happen during the Hunter Exam, that was until Illumi showed up both grayish-purple and hideous, clicking and clacking like a broken typewriter. That had felt like a personal slight. 

When nothing happened during the Hunter Exam, nor the many times after that they saw each other, Hisoka had begun to lose hope. 

And then Illumi turned up at his door looking as gorgeous as ever and demanding a place to stay. 

And here they were. 

Illumi shifted in his sleep again. He moved a lot, and murmured things, and sometimes kicked, violently. It was a miracle his hair didn’t frizz in the mornings. 

With a sweet sigh, Hisoka brushed Illumi’s hair away from both of their faces and fell back asleep.

* * *

Hisoka woke for the last time to a sweat-slick leg slamming into him. Immediately, his eyes flew open and he reached for the pack of cards he kept at his bedside. He had one held between his fingers, ready to be thrown, before he realized who the leg belonged to: a shaking, sweating Illumi who was clearly in the throes of a nightmare. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka whispered, touching his shoulder gently. 

“ _ Stop, _ ” Illumi croaked to someone in his dream. 

“Illumi, wake up.” 

“ _ I’ll do better--be better, I promise--”  _

“Illumi, up,” Hisoka said louder, shaking him this time. 

“ _ Dad, _ ” Illumi gasped, sitting upright suddenly. 

“No,” Hisoka said firmly, then a smile spread on his face: “though, if you  _ wanted  _ to call me--” 

“I had a bad dream,” Illumi said slowly. He stared at his own hands where they were buried in the sheets. 

“You kicked me,” Hisoka added. 

“Yeah,” Illumi rasped. He threaded his fingers through his hair, looking briefly up at the ceiling before glancing sideways at Hisoka. 

“You’re not going to ask me about it?” Illumi sounded wary, like he had been subjected to attempts at homemade therapy before. 

“I won’t patronize you like that,” Hisoka said. Illumi blinked, grateful. 

“I’m going to shower then,” he said eventually, rising to his feet, thighs trembling slightly. 

“Wanna have sex?” Hisoka sounded hopeful.

“No.” 

“I’ll ride you. I’ll be doing all the work,” Hisoka added, baring his teeth in a friendly smile. Illumi considered it, head cocked. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, cheeks flushed like he had just been running. Illumi’s eyes were slightly more sunken than usual, and grayish around the edges, like he had worn eyeliner the night before and removed it poorly. 

“Okay,” Illumi relented with a fond smile. Hisoka clapped in delight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of now, I'm planning for there to be three more chapters, but things could change, depending on where I want the story to go. The next chapter is going to have some plot, I promise! 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. I'd really love to hear what you think!


	6. A Night Out

Illumi was woken by the soft buzzing of his phone. For a moment, he was back home, legs tangled in silk sheets, boots made for killing lined up outside his door.

And then his heart slowed to a steady thump. 

He wasn’t home. There was a body in his bed and the ceiling above him was white and flat, not dark and vaulted.

Illumi glanced sideways at Hisoka, sleeping soundly beside him. His hair was unstyled, a messy cowlick sticking up endearingly. Even in sleep, his features were perfect, lashes pressed to the skin under his eyes, eyes which were as lovely and slanted as a fox’s. 

His full, soft mouth was parted slightly, taking in air and releasing it with soft puffs. Illumi had an urge to kiss him, gentle and sexless, but he thought better of it. 

Carefully, so as not to disturb the soft, warm mass that was Hisoka sleeping, Illumi blindly plucked his phone off the bedside table and answered it without checking the contact name.

“Hm?” He got out, voice still rough from sleep.

“ _ Hey, Illumi? _ ” 

“Milluki, hello,” Illumi croaked, heaving himself upright and folding his legs into a criss-cross. It was odd for Milluki to be calling him. They rarely talked nowadays, and when they did, it was in stilted text conversation. 

Illumi absently combed through the feathery hair at the back of Hisoka’s neck. 

“ _ I was just calling to let you know I got you your account back _ .” Milluki’s voice was thick with self-satisfaction. 

“Seriously?” Illumi demanded, eyes widening into moons. Hisoka roused himself awake with a soft sound. 

“Who’re you talking to?” He mumbled, brushing bright pink hair out of his eyes. 

“How’d you even manage that?” Illumi asked, ignoring Hisoka, hand going still in his hair. He heard Milluki snort over the phone. 

_ “It’s me, remember? _ ” 

“You won’t get in trouble for this?” Illumi asked apprehensively. 

“ _ Nah, they won’t know it’s me _ .” 

“Who are you talking to?” Hisoka asked, voice muffled by the pillow he was pressing his face into. 

“Hisoka, be quiet,” Illumi said without thinking. Milluki made a choking sound. 

_ “Hisoka? Is that why you left home? So you could go fuck- _ -”

“Milluki,” Illumi interrupted sharply, “tell me how to access my account.” 

“It’s Milluki?” Hisoka said drowsily. “Tell him I said hello.”

Illumi sighed, long and heavy.

“Hisoka says hello.” 

_ “Hello, Hisoka. Your account, Illumi, is still on your phone. It’s the same password as usual, it’s just fully under your name now, no linked accounts. No one will be able to track your activity. Spend at will.”  _

“Thanks, Milluki.” 

“ _ Mhm, so… Hisoka… _ ” 

“Bye.” 

_ “Bye, Illumi _ ,” Milluki said with a reluctant sigh. Illumi set his phone down and stretched languidly. 

“I got my money back,” he mused, mostly to himself. Hisoka was already dozing off again, but he managed to pat Illumi’s thigh lazily. 

“You won’t have to leech off me anymore,” he mumbled. 

“Are you kicking me out?” Illumi asked. Hisoka blinked himself awake in order to look at Illumi properly. His eyes were still coated in a film of sleep, cheeks pale and soft. But beneath it all, there was a sudden thrumming of concern, an unusual look on Hisoka, and as a result, very easy to spot.

“Was that a rhetorical question?” Hisoka asked. 

“I don’t do those,” Illumi said flatly. 

“I want you to stay,” Hisoka clarified carefully, searching Illumi’s face for a reaction. Black eyes as round as saucers softened a little. 

“I want to stay, too.” 

“Good,” Hisoka sighed, “then I’m going back to sleep.” Illumi resumed petting his hair, gaze fixed on the wall. A flat-screen television was mounted there. Hisoka used to put videos of a crackling fireplace on the screen while they had sex.

_ It sets the mood,  _ Hisoka would purr. Illumi was easily distracted by it, however, eyes going wide and blank, focusing on the flicker of the flames like he had been hypnotized. That always bruised Hisoka’s ego. He demanded lots of attention from Illumi, especially during sex. 

Eventually, he stopped with the fireplace and opted for music, which Illumi much preferred. Whenever he got too overwhelmed, and felt himself begin the familiar process of shutting down, he focused on the soft crooning voice of an artist he didn’t know. It helped.

Hisoka shifted suddenly in his sleep, pressing his head into Illumi’s hand. He had very soft hair, feathery, like the down of a young bird, almost the opposite of Illumi’s silky hair. Freckles dusted the back of his neck, where his burgeoning mullet didn’t cover. It made Illumi want to go to the beach, to see Hisoka stretch like a cat in too-small swim shorts, to slather sunscreen over a broad, pale back. 

“Hisoka,” Illumi murmured. All he got was a gentle grunt. 

“Would you like to go to the beach?” 

“We’ll go next week, the weather is supposed to be nice.” 

“Okay,” Illumi said, pleased now, with their plans. He would need to buy a hat. And a swimsuit. And goggles, so he could snorkel. 

“I’ll wear my tiniest bathing suit,” Hisoka added drowsily. 

“Yes, please,” Illumi said with a grin.

* * *

When they finally dragged themselves out of bed at the respectable time of nine am, it was drizzling slightly. The penthouse windows were a wall of roiling gray. Hisoka turned on the heated floors and stumbled into the kitchen. 

“It’s sweltering in here,” Illumi called from the hallway. 

“I was cold,” Hisoka called back, flicking the coffee machine on. 

“You aren’t wearing any clothes,” Illumi pointed out, rounding the hallway and staring at Hisoka skeptically. That wasn’t true. Hisoka was wearing underwear. And socks. 

“I’m wearing underwear, and socks.” 

“I’m hot.” 

“If you’re hot, wear less clothes. This isn’t a nunnery, Illumi.” Illumi’s expression soured. 

“You just want me to take my clothes off. Does it ever get tiring, being so perverted and--” 

“Hot chocolate?” Hisoka slid a mug of the stuff across the kitchen island. Illumi’s expression softened minutely. He picked it up with one hand and took a tentative sip. 

“Turn the heat down,” he hissed after a moment, taking his mug with him to the couch in the den. 

Evidence of their latest sex escapade was strewn about lazily, including the come-covered silk scarf that Illumi had used rather carelessly to clean off Hisoka’s stomach. 

Illumi toed it off the couch and into the corner of the room, curling up against the cushions with a sigh. The heating hadn’t gotten to this part of the apartment yet. Even so, he stripped his pajama pants in preparation and then waited patiently for Hisoka to arrive. 

Hisoka was particular about his coffee, so particular that he had purchased a barista-style espresso machine in addition to the built-in machine that came with the apartment. Illumi could hear the gushing of steam and the hiss and gurgle of coffee spilling into a delicate glass all the way from the den. 

“Illumi!” Hisoka called. 

“Hm?” 

“Your phone’s ringing.” Hisoka appeared around the corner with Illumi’s phone in his hand. He was staring at the contact with a raised eyebrow. 

“It’s Killua.” 

“What?” Illumi snapped. 

“Killua, see?” Hisoka showed him the screen, which indeed showed Killua’s contact name and photo. In the picture, Killua was glaring, cheeks still round from youth. He had been ten or so in that photo. They had been at the dinner table. Zeno was going on and on about something boring, and even Illumi could agree it was boring. 

Killua’s face had been precious, so Illumi took a photo.

“Answer it,” Hisoka commanded, shoving the phone into Illumi’s lap. 

“Hello?” Illumi asked tremulously. 

“Illu?” 

“Kil,” Illumi said with a sigh of relief. “Hi.” 

“Uh,” he said with that same wariness he had been giving Illumi for years. “Gon wanted to spar with Hisoka and I figured--you offered for us to come and stay, I was wondering if we could take you up on that? You’re still with Hisoka, right?” 

“Yes,” Illumi said quietly. “I’m still with him. You can come. Are you alright? Do you have money? Have you two had a place to stay?” Gon snorted loudly in the background. 

“We  _ had _ money,” he said. 

“Idiot! Shut up!” Killua shouted, pulling away from the phone to presumably smack Gon. 

“Killua spent it all on candy!” Gon shouted into the speaker, laughing hysterically. Hisoka, still standing very close to Illumi, grinned. Illumi was blank-faced. 

“You’re coming then?” He asked tightly. 

“If that’s okay with Hisoka? It’s his place right?” 

“See you soon!” Hisoka crowed, loud enough that the phone receiver picked it up. 

“Okay, we’re in Jappon, so it’ll take us about a day to get to you by airship.”

“Okay,” Illumi rasped, nails digging pink crescents into the skin of his thigh. Hisoka watched it all with a calculating gaze. 

“See you, Illu,” Killua said with that same nervousness, like a street cat in an alley. 

“Bye, Kil.” Illumi hung up and gasped loudly, like he had just been burned. 

“You’re vibrating,” Hisoka noted. 

“Maybe,” Illumi admitted with a waver to his voice. 

“You really have issues, Illumi. I get that you want your brother back, but being all weird and obsessive isn’t going to make that any easier.”

“I’m  _ not  _ obsessive,” Illumi hissed, glancing up to glare at Hisoka. 

“Take the pins out of my couch then,” Hisoka said, jerking his chin to where three pins, one between each of his fingers, were buried in the cushions. Illumi’s lip lifted into a snarl and he pulled the pins out. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, falling back onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling. His hair spilled over in a way that was almost erotic. Hisoka watched calmly. 

“We have one day to fuck our brains out before two twelve-year-olds move into the room next door.” 

“Yeah,” Illumi rasped. 

“Will you stop worrying?” Hisoka chided, pushing Illumi’s legs out of the way so he could sit down next to him. 

“I’ve been a bad brother,” Illumi said quietly. Hisoka’s eyebrows, both of them, climbed up his forehead. 

“You just realized that?” 

“He’s never going to forgive me.” 

“Killua will forgive you when he wants to. Just say sorry and be done with it.” 

“We can’t all have that carefree mentality, Hisoka,” Illumi said bitterly. Hisoka reached out to stroke his hair and he begrudgingly allowed it. 

“He’s coming, that means he’s forgiven you a little bit, hasn’t he?” 

“I suppose,” Illumi said, sinking further into the couch cushions. 

“Shall I make breakfast? Pancakes, maybe?” Illumi thought of the half-finished plans strewn about the dining room table, the blueprints of the Zoldyck estate, the profiles on the butlers, and then he glanced over at Hisoka. His clever eyes gleamed with expectation, mouth curved in a patient smile. 

“Yes, pancakes,” Illumi said finally, letting Hisoka pull him to his feet. 

* * *

Hisoka was frowning over a makeup palette, sitting cross-legged on their white couch. His face paintbrush was held between two knuckles, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“I’m thinking of switching up my colors,” he said. Illumi peered at him from the other end of the couch, feet tucked under his body. 

“You change them?” Illumi asked, mystified. 

“Sometimes. Do these colors go?” Hisoka held up a turquoise and a pink. 

“Yes,” Illumi said. Hisoka’s nose wrinkled. 

“You’re just saying that.” 

“I mean it,” Illumi said indignantly. 

“What are your favorite colors?” 

“I like black.” 

“What else,” Hisoka asked patiently. Illumi cocked his head, tapping his chin in thought. 

“I just like black,” he decided. That wasn’t entirely true. Hisoka was starting to interest him in the color pink. Illumi figured it was simply a situation of acceptance by proxy. 

Pink was everywhere in Hisoka’s apartment. 

He was starting to like the color gold, too, the kind of gold that wrapped Hisoka’s pupils. Gold that resembled the inside of a honey jar, thick amber sweetness sliding leisurely up against a copper lid.

“Illu?” Hisoka asked patiently. He was used to this habit of Illumi’s. The zoning out was frequent enough that Hisoka didn’t even pout about being ignored anymore.

“I have a job scheduled in an hour, but I would like to take you out to dinner tonight,” Illumi said suddenly, expression serious. His hair was tucked behind his ears, making him look endearingly young. 

“Okay,” Hisoka said with a fond smile. 

“Thank you,” Illumi said, lifting himself off the couch and making for their now-shared bedroom. At the beginning of the hall, however, he paused, head tilting in consideration. Hisoka waited, patient and smug, an eyebrow slowly rising up into his hairline. 

“Yes, darling?” 

“I love you,” Illumi said, with the same firm intensity with which he had asked Hisoka to dinner. 

“I love you, too,” Hisoka said simply. 

“Okay,” Illumi said. He wavered in the hallway like an especially awkward ghost. 

“Is there more?” Hisoka’s voice was not teasing this time, expression as open as a flower. 

There was more, Illumi knew, much more that he wanted to say, things that sounded suspiciously like  _ thank you,  _ and  _ I would do anything for you,  _ and  _ I wish I wasn’t so traumatized by my family because I would love to introduce you to them.  _

But, he refrained. Those were things that Illumi could say over a very expensive meal, tonight. 

“No, I’ll be back in an hour.” 

* * *

Illumi threatened the hostess of the nicest restaurant in Yorknew until she relinquished a table on their rooftop. 

He didn’t tell Hisoka this. 

“This is a very popular restaurant,” Hisoka said, gazing up at the skyscraper with wide eyes. 

“Seems so,” Illumi agreed, smoothing out the crease in his shirt. He was still thrumming with a caustic, high-strung energy from the job: aggression and eagerness making his stomach somersault. 

Silva used to discourage this kind of reaction. An assassin shouldn’t enjoy killing, he insisted. He enforced this belief with Illumi creatively, cruelly. 

It didn’t take, though. 

“How’d you get reservations?” Hisoka asked suspiciously. 

“I asked.” 

Hisoka scoffed. 

“I said please,” Illumi added, smiling to himself now. Behind them, their hired car purred out of the driveway, gleaming like an oil spill. 

Hisoka led the way, walking very much like he owned the place. Illumi followed behind, hands held at the small of his back--an inherited habit from his grandfather. 

“We have reservations for two,” Hisoka said, drumming trimmed fingernails on the hostess’ podium. 

“Name?” 

Illumi stepped a little in front of Hisoka, and very suddenly, his Nen increased in density, darkness seeping into the air like the scent of something foul. 

“Zoldyck,” he said, pronouncing the  _ k  _ more harshly than necessary. A hush fell over the foyer. A couple shrugging on their coats glanced sideways at Illumi and then whispered to each other. 

“Zoldyck?” The hostess asked weakly. Illumi loomed, hair slipping over his shoulder on one side. 

“Is there a problem?” He felt the brush of Hisoka’s hand on his back, a grounding presence. 

“Nope,” she said, smiling falsely. “Right this way.” 

* * *

The hostess took them into a small, ornate elevator that spat them out at the top floor of the building. The table was pressed up against a massive glass window, the surrounding tables and guests reflected in it like a movie projection. Candles bobbed pleasantly in water beds; dark, well-tended flowers decorated every table, dominating much of the white tablecloth; fine colored china was stacked artistically amongst gleaming silverware. 

“Is this table okay?” She asked, knowing perfectly well that it resembled something out of a catalog. Illumi peered out of the window, glancing all the way down to where the headlights of cars streaked by, like wayward spirits finding their way home. 

“Yes,” Hisoka answered for him. They sat on cushioned velvet chairs, wide enough to curl up on with a good book if given the chance. 

“There’s no menu,” Illumi said. “It’s preset. It will come in nine courses.” He finally made eye-contact with Hisoka across the table, his black eyes reflecting the candle in front of him, in much the same way that the window was reflecting the inside of the restaurant. 

“We can still order alcohol, though?” Hisoka asked, leaning forward on his elbows. Illumi nodded, sliding over the menu. 

“Do we want a bottle of wine?” Hisoka asked, perusing the list. 

“I wanted a cocktail,” Illumi said, blinking owlishly. 

“We can do both,” Hisoka said, closing the menu with a satisfied smile. 

When the waiter arrived, he bowed very low and waited with a docile smile for their order. 

“A bottle of the Romanee St. Vivant Domaine Leroy, please,” Hisoka said, squinting in the candlelight. 

He needed glasses, Illumi noted suddenly, an odd thrill going through him. Truthfully, a part of him was probably just delighted at finding a physical vulnerability in Hisoka, something to exploit. But then, maybe he also just wanted to see him in a pair of reading glasses. 

“Could I get a green chartreuse, chilled, please?” Illumi asked, looking up at the waiter with his big, curious eyes. The waiter raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course, right away, sir.” He strode off. Hisoka rubbed at his brow with slight exasperation. 

“You and that drink,” he muttered. 

“It’s delicious,” Illumi said, affronted. 

“It’s  _ green _ .” 

“Have you ever considered getting reading glasses?” Illumi asked, leaning forward slightly. Hisoka blinked, eyes going wide and then narrow. He grinned, flashing his back row of molars. 

“Would that do it for you?” The spell was broken. Illumi sighed. 

“I was just asking,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. 

“Hey,” Hisoka said after a moment, frowning now. Illumi’s gaze flitted upwards. “How’d your job go?” 

“Fine,” Illumi said stiffly. He had returned from it two hours before they were set to leave for dinner, later than either of them had expected. 

Illumi always took on a more masculine energy after jobs, a subtle aggression, like the hackles of a dog being raised. 

Hisoka had heard the door open violently, had heard Illumi kick his boots off, leaving mud and torn bits of grass on the herringbone floors. After, he stormed to the bathroom to shower, moving with a heaviness that was all at once irritating and arousing.

Hisoka wisely kept out of Illumi’s way, even when he emerged from the shower in a robe with their new first aid kit in hand. In other circumstances, Hisoka would have offered to help, but the look in Illumi’s eyes had told him to steer clear for the time being. 

Hisoka didn’t hear or see him until they were due to leave for dinner. He appeared in the foyer in a suit, looking impeccable, expression as dry as a well-made martini. 

“When I take your clothes off tonight, am I going to see things?” Hisoka whispered across the table, propping his cheek against the heel of his palm. He could already see the slightly curled edge of a white bandage that peeked over the top of Illumi’s shoulder. 

The glow of the floating candles illuminated Illumi’s scowl beautifully, coloring his cheeks gold. His flat, bottomless eyes pinned Hisoka mercilessly. Hisoka responded in kind with a friendly squint.

“You’re a pervert,” Illumi said. 

“I just like it when you get hurt, Illumi. It’s so rare.” 

“It didn’t even hurt,” he said, refusing to break eye contact, even when their first course was set in front of them with a flourish. It was a clear gelatinous substance, savory, with a citrus foam, and a crumble of something that neither of them really understood. 

Hisoka picked at it skeptically. 

Illumi seemed very much at home, an alien eating alien things. 

Dinner concluded with a fanciful dessert decorated with little purple flowers, which Hisoka kept getting stuck in his teeth. Illumi laughed like a child as Hisoka smiled a purple grin.

When the drinks were drained and the wine bottle was finally empty, Illumi paid the bill with his newly acquired credit card, pressing it neatly against the table with manicured fingers. 

Hisoka grinned playfully, crushing an ice cube between his teeth.

“I guess now you’re my-- _ ”  _

“No,” Illumi said, cutting him off, though he was tempted to laugh. “Let’s go home.” 

* * *

The apartment was dark and cold. Illumi was reminded, briefly, violently, of returning to the Zoldyck estate after long jobs, of returning to his bedroom. It was always free of dust or anything else that would suggest a passage of time, but it was still weighed down with an indescribable loneliness, like the room had sagged in pathetic despair without someone to live in it. 

Hisoka flipped on the lights and jacked up the heat, and the apartment came alive. After surveying the formal living room and kitchen, like a dog sniffing at his territory, he made his way down the hall. 

Illumi kicked off his shoes with a sigh and slumped forward onto the couch, twitching irritably at the sensation of his own hair tickling his neck. 

“I’m starting a bath,” Hisoka called from the bedroom. 

“Can I join?” 

“No.” 

Illumi picked himself up off the couch and followed Hisoka to the bedroom anyway, shedding clothes as he went. 

His whole body ached like a cavity. 

Wafts of rose-scented steam floated in from the bathroom. Illumi could see Hisoka’s reflection through the fogged-up mirror. He was pale and strong and handsome, his broad shoulders rolling tiredly under flawless skin. 

“I know you’re hurt,” Hisoka said without looking at Illumi. “Take a proper shower and then I’ll take a look at you.” He dipped his toe into the bath, hissed at the heat, and then fully stepped in. 

It did not escape Illumi that Hisoka’s cock was half-hard against his thigh. 

“I want to take a bath with you,” Illumi said stubbornly. Without waiting for permission, he shed his suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt, working quickly. 

Hisoka raised an eyebrow from his spot in the tub. The bath was oversized, with easily enough room for Hisoka to spread his legs, which he had, and for Illumi to fit comfortably as well. 

Illumi took that as a sign that he absolutely had to go in. 

“Illumi--”

By the time he had kicked off his underwear, the bath was full and the water had turned off, leaving the pair in silence. 

Illumi had been a very good sport during their dinner, because he was latticed with bruises. 

“You look a little worse for wear,” Hisoka said calmly, though he was starting to feel an eye-twitch coming on, a borrowed trait from Illumi. 

“It hardly hurts,” Illumi said, stepping into the bathtub slowly. There was a burn at the nape of his neck, extending up and over his shoulder, ending at the edge of the clavicle. Bruises laced his legs and stomach. A healing scrape colored his ribcage. 

“Just a bath,” Hisoka warned as Illumi laid on top of him, slotting one leg between Hisoka’s and the other just outside of it. Hisoka gingerly stroked his side, careful to avoid further irritating any of his injuries. He hardly knew what to do with himself. He had never really seen Illumi any more than ruffled by a fight. It made him wonder if his target today had really been so extraordinary, or if there was something wrong with Illumi that was making him distracted. 

“Just a bath,” Illumi echoed finally. 

* * *

Illumi was, even with part of his weight buoyed by water, very heavy. For all his lithe and grace, he was still a large, muscle-packed person who, like a massive, oblivious dog, did not seem to understand his own bulk.

Hisoka tried to focus on breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest, as if he were meditating, but it was difficult with Illumi’s chin digging fiercely into his sternum. Illumi was starting to mouth at Hisoka’s skin, absent, in the same way that someone insecure would mutter to themselves in public. 

Hisoka felt the scrape of teeth, a deliberate gesture, a demand for attention, and let out a whoosh of breath. He lifted his hand from the water and began to stroke Illumi’s half-submerged back, marveling at how the knobs of his spine sloped down to his dimples of Venus. 

“You’re quiet,” Hisoka whispered, his voice echoing tinnily against the water. Most people didn’t know this, but Illumi was very talkative. There was an almost constant stream of consciousness flowing through his lips. Usually. 

“Tired,” was his answer. 

Hisoka’s fingers dug, a little purposefully, into the still-healing burn at the back of Illumi’s neck. 

Illumi whimpered, just loud enough to be heard over the sloshing of the bathwater. 

“I take it the job didn’t go very well?” Hisoka whispered in his ear. Illumi gnawed at Hisoka’s shoulder. 

“It went fine,” he growled after a moment. 

“You’re burned,” Hisoka said, “just… here.” He pressed again, hard enough to feel the shiny, damaged skin just about split. Illumi choked, simultaneously grinding his cock down against Hisoka’s. The water wasn’t viscous enough to provide lubrication. There was still a slightly frictional drag that levered a wince from Hisoka. 

Illumi seemed unbothered by it. 

“And you have a bruise here,” Hisoka continued softly, a broad, hot hand stroking up the outside of Illumi’s thigh. 

“It went fine,” Illumi repeated gruffly, pulling back onto his knees to look Hisoka in the eyes. His expression was terse, lips twisted in slight irritation. 

Illumi’s stomach flexed beautifully as he held himself up, the muscle along his inner thighs clenching. Hisoka ran his hands up his thighs again, lingering on his ass, and then coming together at the small of his back. 

“It went fine?” He asked. Illumi’s mouth split into a grin, sloppy and boyish, shockingly uncharacteristic. 

“He pissed himself, he was so afraid.” 

“He got in a few hits, though,” Hisoka mused, thumbing a bruise and watching with delight as Illumi’s next exhale was shaky and heavy. 

“His Nen,” Illumi sighed, eyes half-closing. Hisoka pressed harder against the bruise. Illumi’s cock bobbed against his stomach as if asking for attention. Everything about Illumi was beautiful and solid and strong, firm to the touch and feverishly hot. 

“His Nen,” Hisoka prompted, slowly reaching up to stroke Illumi’s cock. From this vantage, lying in the bath, underneath an Illumi propped on his knees, it was easy to see the minute changes in his expression, the way his brows furrowed or his lip trembled, or the way his hips stuttered whenever Hisoka's grip became too tight or lingered in one spot for too long. 

“His Nen…” Illumi tried again. “...was difficult to deal with.” 

“And he pissed himself?” Hisoka asked again, just for the indulgence of it. Illumi’s eyes fell totally closed, hips bucking slightly into Hisoka’s grip. He smiled, dazedly. 

“He was begging me.” 

Hisoka kept his stroking slow and firm, nothing too frantic or satisfying. Illumi seemed sated by it. He sank lower until he was sitting back on his own heels, still in between Hisoka’s spread legs. 

The bathwater was growing a little too hot. Hisoka was growing anxious. 

“C’mere,” he said, tugging Illumi’s cock towards him, just a little too hard to be comfortable. Illumi’s left eye cracked open, an eyebrow raising, but he followed obediently, pressing his chest to Hisoka’s, kissing his mouth with the gentleness of an apology. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Hisoka said into his mouth. 

“I love you,” Illumi rasped back, reaching down clumsily to stroke Hisoka and himself with one hand. The angle was awkward, especially with their bellies pressed together. 

“Let me,” Hisoka said, gently moving Illumi’s hand away and kissing it, tasting the slight bitter of precum and the sweet floral of the bath oils. 

“I wanna come,” Illumi whispered against the corner of his mouth. 

“You will,” Hisoka assured him, amused. 

“Promptly,” Illumi added, grinding down impatiently. 

“How do you want it?” 

“Like this,” Illumi breathed, melting like a pad of butter against Hisoka’s shoulder. 

Hisoka’s free hand skirted up his back and grazed the burn on Illumi’s neck, teasing, coy. Illumi groaned, a heavy, buckling sound that reverberated in Hisoka’s own bones. 

“Does it hurt?” Hisoka asked. 

“I wanna come,” Illumi growled, rocking his hips a little harder. Truthfully, he was doing most of the work. All Hisoka had to do was loosely wrap his hand around both of their cocks and allow Illumi to fuck himself through it. 

If Illumi noticed this skewed distribution of effort, he didn’t let on. He was loud and possessive, biting and nipping at any bits of skin he could find. Hisoka kept trying to catch Illumi in a kiss, but Illumi continued to be distracted by the expanse of Hisoka’s neck, scraping his teeth against the tender skin there before moving south to bite down gently at his nipple. 

Hisoka stifled a gasp. 

“Does it hurt?” Illumi croaked, grinning slightly at the callback. Hisoka tugged his hair playfully with one hand and tightened his grip on their cocks with the other, careful to make sure his fingernails dug into Illumi and not himself. 

He felt Illumi’s hiss more than he heard it, a sudden contracting of his abdomen, and a desperate half-thrust forward, keening like an over-excited dog. 

The heat of the water had died off considerably, but their skin still bore residual flushes from the temperature. The pink of Illumi’s shoulder was as lovely as a sunburn, pressing against Hisoka’s collarbone thoughtlessly. 

He could tell Illumi was close, if not by his desperate movements then by the fact that he had gone essentially non-verbal. Hisoka was vaguely aware that his hand had been rendered useless between their bellies, with Illumi opting instead to rut hard against his hip bone. It couldn’t have been very comfortable, but then, Illumi seemed to relish things like that. 

Illumi let out a hoarse groan and Hisoka instinctively grabbed him by the back of the neck, fingers digging in mercilessly into his burn. Hisoka felt Illumi’s face bury into his neck, and he saw the arch of his back just over his shoulders, and then his hand, still sandwiched between their bellies, was painted with come. 

Illumi draped himself over Hisoka, totally limp, like a wet cloth, while Hisoka stroked himself off to completion. He finished only a minute after Illumi, sighing as he did it. 

“Illu,” Hisoka croaked finally. Illumi groaned against his throat. 

“We need to shower. The water is… no longer clean.” 

“...a minute,” Illumi requested quietly, chest still heaving with the aftereffects of a hard wrung-out orgasm. Hisoka laughed, more a feeling than a sound, and stroked up Illumi’s slippery back. The water was starting to go tepid. Illumi’s hair was half-wet now, sticking to his own skin and Hisoka’s like the legs of a gigantic spider. 

“Oh, we need to go shower, right now, Illumi. I can’t do this anymore,” Hisoka said with a put-upon sigh. Summoning a considerable amount of abdominal strength, he sat up, bearing Illumi’s weight, and then slowly stood, leaving his partner to slump back against the bathtub edge. 

“I can’t move,” Illumi called as Hisoka started the shower. 

“You can,” Hisoka called back, lips curling in amusement. 

“I feel like I’ve been fucked,” he groaned. 

“You haven’t. We frottaged like teenagers.”

“Hisoka,” Illumi said insistently. Hisoka glanced over at him. From this vantage, all he saw was the top of Illumi’s dark head, and his eyes: two, big obsidian things, peering expectantly at him over the ledge of the bathtub. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka replied, sticking his foot into the shower to test the temperature.

“Carry me.” 

“Carry yourself,” Hisoka said. 

“I paid for dinner.” 

“I’ve paid to house you for  _ months _ !” That seemed to rouse Illumi. With a sigh, he wobbled to his feet, traveled the short distance from the bath to the shower, and slumped on the marble bench, letting the shower spray douse him like a wet cat. 

“I’m not washing your hair tonight,” Hisoka said with a yawn. “It’s way too much work.” 

“How do you think I feel doing it?” Illumi groused.

“Vanity is a bitch,” Hisoka sang, rinsing the conditioner out of his hair. 

As soon as Hisoka left the shower, Illumi seemed to reanimate. He turned the water cold, scrubbed his skin within an inch of its life, and then washed his hair and conditioned twice. Hisoka watched the entire process from the bed, having left the bathroom door open to service his own voyeuristic tendencies. 

They made a good match. Hisoka liked to watch Illumi with an intensity that bordered on inappropriate and Illumi was characteristically indifferent about being watched constantly like an animal in a zoo. 

“Are you done?” Hisoka called. 

“Done,” Illumi said, wrapping a towel around his waist very neatly. In the bright, white light of the bathroom, bruises in the shape of fingertips became visible along Illumi’s ribcage, a new companion to the other dozen or so contusions he was already sporting. 

“Sorry,” Hisoka said, eyeing the marks guilty. Illumi tied his hair up in a towel with a clever twisting motion and shrugged. 

“I can’t feel it.” 

“How’s your burn?” 

“It burns.” 

“I suppose that relatively, that’s a good thing.” Hisoka received a small, genuine smile from Illumi, gone as quickly as it came. 

“Dry your hair before you come to bed,” Hisoka instructed as Illumi came closer. 

“I don’t want to do that,” Illumi said with the petulance of a child, removing the towel on his head and collapsing on top of the covers with a whoosh of breath. Despite his annoyance, Hisoka couldn’t help but admire the way Illumi looked under the waning moonlight. With no artificial light to wash him out, Illumi was as pale as pewter, the muscle in his stomach and chest and shoulders lax but still loosely defined. He was built like an athlete, with an elastic strength that reminded Hisoka of his own Nen sometimes. 

“You’re going to get the bed damp,” Hisoka complained toothlessly. 

“It’ll dry,” Illumi said, stretching out like a particularly smug porch cat. Hisoka reached over and carded his hand through his still-wet hair. It smelled intensely of peppermint. 

When Hisoka had first started thinking of Illumi in a sexual manner, which, to be completely honest with himself, had been the moment he had met him, he had always imagined what Illumi would smell like. 

First, he had incorrectly assumed it to be something very feminine, like crushed lilies and lavender, or rose and burnt sugar, maybe figs and blood orange. It was probably because of the hair.

When Illumi first came to his apartment, he smelled noticeably of coffee, which had surprised Hisoka. The more time he spent with Illumi, the more he realized that his natural scent fell somewhere between the sharp, wintry bite of pulped herbs and the sweet, androgynous smell of earth. 

Hisoka smelled exclusively of cotton candy, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

* * *

The bath had been the final straw for both of them. They could barely keep their eyes open enough to watch TV. 

“This is embarrassing,” Hisoka said with a snort, his head pillowed on Illumi’s arm. “We’re like old people.” 

“It’s nearly midnight,” Illumi said, lazily defensive. 

“We’re old people,” Hisoka corrected, turning in Illumi’s hold until his cheek was pressed to Illumi’s chest. He was right over Illumi’s heart, could hear it thump steadily. The sound filled Hisoka with a wholly unexpected surge of love, of relief that there was still a sound to be made. So many years of dancing around each other, only to be brought together by Illumi’s newfound sense of rebellion, about ten years too late but better, still, than nothing. It was almost funny. 

“I don’t…” Illumi’s voice was so quiet it was lost to the rustling of their bedsheets. 

“Hm?” 

“I don’t think I’m going to kill them anymore, my parents.” Illumi’s voice scraped the air like the rasp of a tongue. Hisoka felt itchy in its wake. 

“Say something,” Illumi snapped. 

“Whatever you think is best, Illumi.” 

“They’ve left Killua alone.” 

“Yes.” Hisoka felt Illumi sigh, a low, breathy sound. 

“I could if I wanted to. I could kill him.” 

“I know you could.” 

“He doesn’t think I can,” Illumi said, glancing at Hisoka sideways in the dark. Hisoka’s teeth caught the minimal light, flashing like the white lines on a freeway. 

“He’s wrong.” 

“Could you kill Kikyo?” 

“Of course,” Illumi scoffed. 

“I know you are capable, but could you?” Hisoka’s voice was gentle, not a trace of smugness or amusement. 

“I would enjoy it.” Illumi’s tone told Hisoka he wasn’t lying. 

“But you don’t want to anymore.” 

“It’s unnecessary.” A long silence followed. “I know Killua is safe. And… I have you.” 

“Am I just the surrogate for your parricide pipe dream?” 

“I don’t even know what those words mean,” Illumi said, frowning. Hisoka laughed, grasping blindly for Illumi’s hand in the covers. 

“You’re funny.” 

“I’m not going to kill them,” Illumi said, rolling over onto his stomach, arm thrown over Hisoka’s tiny waist. 

“Okay, dear.” 

“I’m not,” Illumi repeated, more to himself than anything. 

“Goodnight, Illumi,” Hisoka whispered. 

“Goodnight, Hisoka.” 

* * *

The knock woke Hisoka first, but Illumi wasn’t far behind him. 

“Who?” Illumi muttered, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Too early to be Gon and Killua,” Hisoka said with a yawn. Illumi instantly felt suspicious. He reached out with his Nen and though the energy outside their door felt familiar, it also felt vicious and desperate and writhing with pain, an intensity that sent shivers up his spine. 

He leaped out of bed with a grace that escaped Hisoka at this time of the morning. Together, they made their way down the hall and stopped at the foyer. The aura that Illumi sensed had struck both of them now. Illumi swore he saw Hisoka's eyes narrow in recognition, but he ignored it, ignored the still-growing pit in his stomach.

Putting himself between the entrance and Hisoka very deliberately, Illumi opened the door. 

“They took him!” 

Gon’s face was as pale as the moon, eyes just as wide, mouth a thin, trembling slash in his face. Illumi felt his heart stutter, felt his fingers tighten against the door jam uselessly, felt the precariously built sense of peace he had gathered over the months he had stayed with Hisoka topple like a corpse. 

“What are you talking about?” Illumi demanded. He could feel Hisoka’s presence at his shoulder, grounding and sure. 

“His parents,  _ your _ parents, they took him, they took Killua!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments absolutely make my day!! I love to hear what u all think :)


	7. A Pin to the Throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heed the new tags!!
> 
> there is self-harm and a description of a panic attack in this chapter.

For a moment, the three of them were suspended. There wasn’t a breath or twitch or sigh to speak of between them. 

Illumi broke the silence by pulling away from the door, fingers already grasping at imaginary pins hidden up his sleeve. 

“Illumi--” 

“We need to do something!” Gon begged. Hisoka flinched involuntarily at his voice, the roughness, the rawness of it. His eyes were desperate, wet. Hisoka didn’t think he’d ever seen Gon cry. 

“ _ Please,  _ you’re his brother, you _ have _ \--” 

“Gon,” Hisoka warned, extending a hand in his direction and reaching with the other for Illumi. 

He wasn’t a stranger to panic attacks. He had been wracked with them as a child. They had gone on through his teenage years right up until he had properly taught himself how to use his Nen. 

Hisoka knew when he was looking at a panic attack. Illumi’s already-wide eyes were glazed, as if they had been painted over with turpentine. His chest rose and fell at a rate that was slightly off, a half-second out of step. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka said again, at a loss for what to do. He felt Gon grab his wrist and squeeze--hard. He fought back the little surge of delight he felt at Gon's growing strength and instead pushed him back once more. 

“Illumi,” he said, uselessly. And then Illumi ripped his gaze from the floor to meet Hisoka’s eyes. They held each other for a moment. Hisoka felt terribly vulnerable under Illumi’s tortured stare. 

“We’ll--” He wasn’t able to finish because as soon as he broke eye-contact with Illumi, he had disappeared down the hall. 

“We have to go get Killua, Hisoka. If Illumi won’t come with us, we’ll go alone. We have to go get him.” Gon tugged harder at Hisoka’s wrist, pulling him towards the door. 

Somewhere in the apartment, a door slammed. Hisoka suddenly got the feeling that something very bad was about to happen. 

He felt his own aura swell in his peripheral, like a dog sensing an earthquake moments before it came. 

“Gon, I think--” 

“We have to go!” 

“ _ Gon _ ,” Hisoka hissed, ripping his hand away and following Illumi’s path. “Just wait a moment, please, just one moment.” 

The master bedroom door was locked. Hisoka knocked gently. 

“Illumi?” 

Silence. 

“Illumi, I’ll break down the door if you don’t answer,” Hisoka said, heart racing a little faster. 

An almost humiliating silence followed. Hisoka braced his shoulder against the door, grimacing at the nightmare of replacing his custom french doors. 

And then he heard the soft, muffled sound of a sob. 

Hisoka rammed his shoulder through the center of the doors, busting the lock open with ease. 

At first glance, the room looked empty.

The drapes billowed gently in the light breeze, leaving ghostly shadows on the floor. The lights were on, but dim, left on the same setting from that morning. The bed was wrinkled, unmade, and sitting in its center was Illumi. 

His eyes were empty, the kind of empty that overtook him on random occasions, that left him unresponsive to words or touch. 

His hands were shaking and it was easy to see why. 

Blood dripped down his wrists and his neck, smeared messily against his skin, nearly dried in some places already. It was clear he was about to cry, or maybe he had just finished; his eyes were red-rimmed and wet, unrecognizable. 

“Illumi--” Hisoka began for what must have been the tenth time that morning. Illumi’s fingers parted and he shoved another pin into his throat, letting out a frustrated sob immediately after. 

“It’s not  _ working _ .” 

“Illumi,” Hisoka said, voice dropping, dangerously quiet. “Stop.” Illumi's wrists shifted, revealing countless pins, some of them already torn out, many more left in. 

Another was plunged into his neck and then twisted. Hisoka shut the door closed behind him and grabbed Illumi’s wrist, hard. 

“Stop, look at me, stop it.” Illumi’s brows lowered and his lip lifted in a small snarl.

“Don’t touch--” Hisoka tugged him out of bed and onto the floor. His knees and Illumi’s lower back hit the hardwood at the same time. They both hissed, and then Hisoka was grabbing Illumi by the hair and holding him in place so he could get on top of him. 

“Will you  _ stop _ ?” Hisoka demanded. Illumi half-sobbed and the pins in his throat, of which there were many, Hisoka realized with a rush of horror, twisted and bent dangerously. 

“ _ I’ll kill you, you know, I’ll fucking _ \--” 

Hisoka slammed Illumi’s head back down onto the floor, forcing it to turn to the side. Illumi’s profile, even when he was under duress, was beautiful. His perfect nose was wrinkled with fury, eyes glittering with unshed tears and desperation.

Hisoka Bungee Gummed his cheek to the floor, keeping his grip in his hair. 

“Illumi,  _ stop, stop! _ ” He begged. The haphazardly-placed pins dug deeper into his neck and his wrists. He could hear Gon knocking on the door desperately.  _ Please don’t come in, please don’t come in, _ he pleaded silently. 

Gon kicked down the door. Wide, brown, child eyes went wider. 

“His--” 

“Out!” Hisoka half-snarled. He shifted his hand from Illumi’s hair to his throat, careful to avoid the area with the pins. Illumi’s knee, which he was sitting on, grated unpleasantly. 

Illumi screamed against his hand, furious, desperate. Hisoka had never heard Illumi make a sound like that. It didn’t seem like he was designed to. Even at his angriest, his voice never rose above that calm, intense lilt.

Gon, having ignored Hisoka, scrambled forward, grabbing both of Illumi’s ankles and holding them. He focused his aura around his hands and arms until Illumi’s struggling began to cease. Smart boy. 

“Use your bungee gum!” Gon pleaded. 

Hisoka didn’t want to, but Illumi's eyes were rolling and sightless. The parts where he had inserted pins and pulled them out were bleeding furiously. Hisoka wrenched one of Illumi’s thighs out, and forced it into a frog-legged position, so he could bungee gum the outside of his knee to the floor. He did the same to the back of Illumi’s other knee, letting this leg extend straight. Gon wisely kept all his weight and Nen on Illumi’s legs nonetheless, his eyes narrowed in focus. 

Illumi hiccuped and jerked uselessly. 

“He’s gone,” he croaked. 

“We’re going to get him back,” Hisoka said, peeling open the eye facing him, forcing Illumi to look at him. Gold met black. Illumi’s eye trembled in it’s socket. There was that franticness Hisoka had been seeing glimpses of, something Illumi had learned from a mother very afraid of losing what she had. 

“We are,” he repeated, more insistent. He released Illumi’s eyelid from under his thumb and watched him blink rapidly. 

“They’re going to hurt him because of me.”

“We’re going to stop them before they do,” Hisoka promised, cringing at the sight of pins hanging half-way out of Illumi’s neck.

“Let me up,” he rasped. His hair was limp with his own blood. It curled wetly at the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

“No,” Hisoka said, sitting back. Gon continued to hold Illumi’s ankles, staring at his own hands with that unique brand of determination Hisoka hadn’t quite seen anywhere else. The single eye that Illumi could use narrowed. 

“Hisoka, let me up. Gon, get the fuck off me.” 

“Gon, stay right there. I said no, Illumi.” Hisoka’s voice was utterly devoid of his usual antagonism. “You  _ freaked out _ .” He couldn’t rid himself of the image of Illumi, sobbing, trying to put himself to sleep with his own needles. 

“Gon, go under the sink in the master bathroom. There’s a dark green first aid bag. Please go get it.” 

“Okay.” Gon scrambled to his feet and pattered to the bathroom. There was blood, Illumi’s blood, on his green shorts, and his hands were trembling. 

“Jesus Christ, Illu,” Hisoka muttered. Illumi refused to make eye contact, even when Hisoka gently took his wrists and bungee gummed those to the floor as well. They had been lucky that Illumi had used all of his pins. If he wasn’t in pajamas, he probably would have had more stored on him. 

Gon returned with the bag and a glass of water. Hisoka zippered it open and studied the contents. Illumi’s neck was now bleeding sluggishly. As were his wrists. A fine tremble ran through his entire body, like a building about to collapse. His eyes usually looked blank, almost opaque, like they had been meticulously colored in with a thick black marker; now, they glistened with tears and anger. His eyelashes clumped together with tears. He looked pretty, when, most of the time, Illumi looked hot. 

Ah, Hisoka was getting distracted. 

“I’m going to bandage everything, and then I’ll let you up,” he said slowly, watching Illumi’s profile for a reaction. All he got was the uncomfortable bob of his throat. 

Hisoka pulled antiseptic wipes from the first aid bag and gingerly pressed one to Illumi’s throat. He heard a stilted  _ ah,  _ more a sound of surprise than pain. 

“I think…” Illumi’s voice was like sand against skin. “... the needles are starting to work.” 

The four needles in his neck that Hisoka had been too afraid to pull out, and the three in his left arm and three in his right shivered as he spoke. 

“I’m going to pull these out, then,” Hisoka said firmly. Illumi made an indifferent sound. 

“If you pass out, can I keep working on you?” Illumi looked like he wanted to say no. 

“Say yes,” Gon piped up. Hisoka had forgotten he was there. “Say yes. If you’re hurt, you won’t be able to rescue Killua.” 

“Fine,” Illumi said coolly. Just like that, his usual expression was back. He clenched his fists weakly. 

“I’m losing feeling in my fingers. It’s my Nen. I’m…” Illumi’s eyes wavered. “I’m going to fall asleep soon.” Hisoka carded a hand through his hair. 

“That’s alright,” he said, smiling again. Illumi made a sound, like a mix between a snarl and a sob. 

“Please let me up,” he said. Hisoka held his palm to Illumi’s cheek, pressing the side of his face even more firmly against the cold, marble floor. He secured the first pin in Illumi’s neck between his middle and ring finger and pulled it straight out, slowly. Illumi didn’t even flinch.

“Please let me up, Hisoka,” he repeated. 

“I can’t do that, Illumi.” 

“Please stop touching me, please let me up.” Illumi’s voice was drifting, growing hazier. His gaze was clouding. Hisoka felt the tension leave his neck; he was no longer trying to push his head against Hisoka’s grasp or fight the Bungee Gum attaching his cheek to the floor. 

“Please, stop, let me up.” 

“No.” Hisoka pulled out another pin. “I have to take all these out. If I let you up, you’re not going to let me touch you.” 

“I don’t want you to touch me.” 

“Then next time, don’t stab yourself, Illumi,” Hisoka snapped. 

“Please, stop touching me,” Illumi said softly. His thigh jumped when Hisoka accidentally brushed it with his calf. His gaze had gone wide and sightless. Hisoka felt his heart pound a little faster, concern trickling down his chest in icy cold rivulets. He waved a hand over Illumi’s eye. 

Nothing. 

He snapped his fingers this time. 

Nothing. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka said, moving to his wrists now. “Where are you?” 

“Please stop touching me,” Illumi repeated, voice ghostly. Gon had fallen silent in the corner of the room, face pale, eyes wide. 

“Killua does this, sometimes, but it’s easy to snap him out of it. It only takes a second,” he said quietly. It ended up hardly mattering, because Illumi’s needles finally did their job and he properly passed out a moment later. Considering his tolerance for things of this nature, he would be awake soon. Hisoka didn’t have much time. 

He pulled the last needle from Illumi’s wrist, tossing it in the small pile with the others. 

“I need to clean him and bandage him,” Hisoka muttered, tapping his chin. Gon wouldn’t be of much help. Hisoka had defied Illumi’s wishes of not being touched because it was necessary, but he probably wouldn’t take kindly to realizing Gon had been touching him when he was asleep. 

“Gon, get me a basin of warm water and some washcloths. The washcloths are in the top shelf of the linen closet.” Hisoka couldn’t lie. Seeing Illumi asleep was a huge relief. He had never been very good at comforting people. He had never really cared enough about someone to want to try. 

_ Killua does this, sometimes.  _

Illumi’s head lolled when Hisoka lifted him up slightly to wedge a pillow under his head. Gon returned promptly with washcloths and a basin of water, both of which he set on the ground near Illumi’s thigh. His gaze lingered on Illumi for a moment longer, mouth pinched, brows lowered over his eyes. 

“He’s really unstable. I didn’t realize.” 

“Only with Killua,” Hisoka said. It was true. Even when faced with his own family, Illumi was the same--a high-functioning, bloodless assassin with pins between his knuckles and hair that shimmered like water. The moment Killua became involved, however, every iota of damage the Zoldyck’s had delivered to him since birth bled through his visage, strengthening him, weakening him, making him tremble and surge. 

With Killua, Illumi was as still as stone until he was all movement--a roiling, blood-red sea. 

Hisoka wetted a washcloth and stroked the skin of Illumi’s neck. He did his wrists and his face, too. Illumi stirred, but he didn’t wake. 

“I’ve got it from here, Gon,” Hisoka said quietly. Gon, to his surprise, didn’t protest. 

“Okay.” 

“Go to the kitchen and grab some food for yourself. You can sleep in the guestroom just across the hall.”

Gon padded away nervously, moving like a woodland creature in the underbrush. 

Hisoka took the sudden silence and leaned against it, eyes closing in exhaustion. Illumi was still under him, sleeping soundly. He was making little sounds with each breath, like he was in pain. 

Hisoka rubbed at Illumi’s knee through his pajama pants. He could hear Gon in the room over, could hear the water running and the closet door hitting the back of the wall as it was opened with just a little too much force. 

Hisoka felt Illumi stir against him. 

Before he could react, Illumi’s knee was slamming up into Hisoka’s sternum and with terrifying ease, he rolled the both of them so that he was on top, straddling Hisoka. His hair fell in a curtain around their faces, as if hiding them from view. Illumi’s arms trembled as they supported his weight. His eyes were wild. 

“It’s me, Illu,” Hisoka said calmly. Illumi had put most of his weight directly on Hisoka’s hip bones, grinding his back into the floor, sending shoots of pain up his pelvis. He could tell this wasn’t accidental. 

“What’s happening,” Illumi demanded. 

“You fell asleep. You stabbed yourself with your needles.” Illumi’s expression pinched with confusion.

“Why would I--  _ Killua _ .” He choked. 

“No, no, Illumi, not this again.  _ Focus. Look at me. _ ” Black eyes pinned him down. 

“We’re going to find him, Illu. We’re going to get him back.” 

“I’ll kill them.” 

“Yes, and I’ll help you.” That seemed to calm him. Illumi liked having people to kill. Hisoka went limp underneath him, smiling dazedly. Illumi, in part, was back to his old self. 

Eventually, Illumi lifted himself off of Hisoka and disappeared into the bathroom. Hisoka allowed him a few seconds before rolling onto his stomach and standing up, following him inside and closing the door behind them.

Illumi was rewrapping the bandages at his throat, fingers trembling as he did. Hisoka sat on the bathroom counter and watched. Intellectually, he knew that Illumi no longer needed supervision, but he wasn’t keen on taking any more risks. 

“I’m fine,” Illumi said, expression foul. 

“I know,” Hisoka said. 

“I don’t need a suicide watch.” 

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” 

Illumi said nothing. He pressed his fingers against the edge of the bandage at his throat and then pulled away from the bathroom mirror, blinking rapidly. 

“Where’s Gon?” 

“Still here,” Hisoka said. He saw Illumi’s lip curl, but whatever Illumi wanted to say, he kept it to himself. 

“Illumi,” Hisoka began slowly. “We shouldn’t rush into this, you know?” 

Illumi was already brushing by him and heading to the living room. 

* * *

“The child has to stay here,” Illumi said, glaring at Gon. Despite the crisp white bandages wrapped around his throat, and the matching ones on both wrists, Illumi looked strong, put-together. Gon shrank a little in his presence, brows drawn over his eyes in young, petulant defiance. 

“I want to help.” 

“You’ve been enough help,” Illumi said coldly. Hisoka opened his mouth and then closed it. 

“Relax, both of you,” he said eventually. Illumi’s fingers twitched but he didn’t say anything. “Illu, I think Gon would be helpful--” 

“No.” 

“I’m stronger than you think!” With an uncanny speed and sharpness, Illumi turned, hair shivering as his head jutted forward. 

“Are you strong enough to kill my father?” He asked. Gon blanched. 

“I--” 

“What about my grandfather? What about  _ me _ ?” The room had gone silent and dark. Illumi’s horrible aura was spreading like ink on wet paper: tiny fissures of black reaching out menacingly. 

“I could still help,” Gon muttered. 

“You’ll be a liability. My family are assassins. They always go for the easiest kill first. You’ll be dead as soon as we begin.” 

“I’ve been to the estate before,” Gon pointed out. That was true, Hisoka realized with a jolt. Gon had pulled off a similar rescue, albeit with lower stakes all around. And help. From the lanky doctor and the insufferable little blonde. 

“Because they let you in,” Illumi hissed. His head tossed like an agitated horse. “Hisoka--I’m losing my patience.” 

“Okayyy,” Hisoka said, falsely cheerful. “Gon, why don’t we just sit this one out?” 

“No! Killua is my friend, my best friend. I’m not going to let  _ him _ \--” Gon jerked a finger at Illumi, who seethed like a bug-eyed spirit of darkness in the corner, “--tell me what to do!” 

“You fucking idiot,” Illumi spat, gripping his own wrist with his opposite hand, as if preventing himself from doing something violent. “If we bring Killua back and you’re not there, then it will have been a waste.” Illumi’s hair was doing that thing, where it puffed like a cat’s tail. His eyes went wider and white. “You’re his best friend. If I get you killed, he’ll hate me even more. You have to be here when we bring him back or he’s just going to wish we never saved him!” 

Hisoka, who had been reaching to hold Illumi back, faltered. Gon kicked the ground with his heel, cheeks burning. 

“Fine.” That seemed to sate Illumi, who sighed and sagged back against the wall, hair obscuring his gaze. 

“Hisoka, get ready, we’re leaving in an hour.” Illumi pushed himself off the wall and walked straight back to their bedroom.

“You can stay here,” Hisoka said to Gon, trying not to antagonize him. “We’ll make sure Killua comes back here, first.” 

“You really think I wouldn’t be able to hold my own against them?” His voice had dipped back into something small and hopeful. Hisoka’s face twitched with regret. 

“Illumi said it best himself. Do you think you could beat  _ him _ ?” 

“After what I saw today? I don’t think so.” 

“Well, there’s your answer. Illumi seems like a titan, but these people made him, and not just Silva and Zeno, Kikyo had a heavy hand as well. Hang back. If we get desperate enough for help, you’ll be the first I call.” That was a lie. Hisoka’s first call would be Machi, in the hopes she would drag along Feitan and Shizuku and Phinks and any other stragglers from the Troupe. If not her, Kurapika, who in the very least, would be compelled to come to their aid for Killua. 

Still, Gon seemed comforted by the lie, so Hisoka plastered on his warmest, sweetest, most-practiced smile, and followed Illumi’s path into his bedroom, where the shower was already running and Illumi’s clothes were folded neatly on his bed. 

Hisoka could see Illumi’s silhouette, could see the narrow length of his waist, the strength of his thighs, the silk of his hair. He was ginger with his wounds, careful to avoid scrubbing at them. 

When he emerged from the shower, he wrapped a towel around himself slowly, watching Hisoka out of the corner of his eye. 

“Enjoyed the peep show?” Despite his fighting words, Hisoka could hear by the hollow of his voice that his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Killua can last one day. We should go tomorrow.” 

“No.” 

“Illumi--”

“No, Hisoka. You do not know what they can do to a child in one day.” Illumi’s hand shook as he wrung out his hair. Behind him, the shower dripped pensively. Steam was clouding the bathroom, spilling out into the bedroom as well. 

“Okay, okay, Illumi.” 

“There is so much they could do,” he rasped again, clutching his own hair like it was a rope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! As always, comments make my days, i literally love hearing what you guys think!
> 
> This chapter was literally why I wrote this entire fic. I'm just obsessed with Illumi's pins and the self-destructive ways he could use them.


	8. Illumi's Biggest Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter baby!!!!!

Illumi disappeared into the bathroom again to blow dry his hair. Hisoka hovered by the door, listening in for any concerning sounds, but there was nothing. Illumi came out, looking drier than before, and exceedingly calmer than before, cheeks pale, mouth relaxed. 

He went to their now-shared closet and pulled out three suits, laying them on the bed with a nose wrinkled in indecision. 

“You’re dressing up?” Hisoka asked. 

“We both are,” Illumi said. “Which one do you like?” Hisoka was having a hard time telling the difference between the suits. One looked slightly less black than the other two, but that could have been a trick of the light. 

“I like that one,” he said, pointing to the middle suit on a whim. Illumi smiled. 

“I do, too.” 

“Great minds.” 

“You should get dressed, we need to leave soon,” Illumi said, disappearing into the closet again to produce a thin black turtleneck which would cover the still-healing holes in his neck. 

“And I’m wearing a suit, too?” Hisoka asked. 

“Well, you aren’t wearing that clown outfit,” Illumi said firmly. Hisoka felt his own mouth twitch. 

“I’ll find a suit, then.” 

* * *

“We’re going straight in?” Hisoka asked, craning his neck to see the full scope of Kukuroo Mountain. 

“Yes,” Illumi said. 

“Do you have a key for the door?” 

“Doors,” Illumi corrected. 

“Hm?”

“There are seven,” Illumi said. Hisoka frowned, observing the wall before them. 

“Well, that seems excessive.” 

“My family is excessive,” Illumi said with a sigh that was long-suffering. 

“I’m assuming the doors are very heavy,” Hisoka mused, tapping the tip of his nose. Illumi’s head cocked like a dog’s. 

“Objectively, sure.” And with that, he cracked his knuckles in a surprisingly ostentatious display and pressed his palms against the surface of the doors, fingertips digging into the stone. 

There was a brief delay, a natural transition that large things like these doors were prone to, a transition from stillness to movement. 

And then a massive groaning sound shook the mountain and Illumi let out a breathy laugh that Hisoka had never heard from him before. 

Slowly, the doors parted fully. 

Hisoka slipped through the gap under Illumi’s arm and braced his hands on his hips. The Zoldyck home was very woody, not the polished estate he had been imagining. 

“So--” Hisoka faltered. Towering above him was the largest dog he had ever seen. 

“Mike,” Illumi said, breathless. The doors slammed shut behind them, disturbing a flock of nearby birds, sending them screaming into the sky. 

The dog, Mike, whined. 

“He’s okay,” Illumi assured him, referring, Hisoka guessed, to him. Mike’s tail, which had been lifted in alarm, lowered and began to wag. 

“Big dog,” Hisoka remarked. 

“He’s our guard dog,” Illumi said, patting his massive cheek fondly. Hisoka nodded faintly. 

“If you told him, would he kill your parents for you?” 

Illumi considered the question, and then considered Mike, big, black, dog-eyes staring at him with nothing short of adoration. 

“He would certainly try. But, I won’t ask that of him.” Hisoka was surprisingly charmed by the answer, picturing a young, awkward Illumi trying to teach a massive puppy how to sit and shake and speak. 

At least there were some parts of Illumi’s childhood that could be considered normal. 

“Is it a far walk?” Hisoka asked. “I like these shoes.” 

“It’s a bit far,” Illumi admitted. 

“Rats.” 

“Rats,” Illumi agreed, smiling. 

* * *

When they finally reached the estate, all Illumi had to do was knock with the toe of his wingtip and then the door was swinging open. 

“ _Loomi!_ ” Illumi was accosted by his mother, cringing slightly as she gathered armfuls of him, fingers tangling in his hair. 

“Hello, mother,” Illumi said, muffled by her shoulder. 

“Illumi’s here?” A low, timbre asked. 

Silva Zoldyck had somehow gotten bigger. 

“ _He’s gotten even more handsome_ ,” Kikyo cried, kissing his temple repeatedly. Illumi made a face. 

“Mother--” 

The breadth of Silva’s shoulders blotted out the light coming in from the house. Hisoka did his best not to smile deliriously at the thought of fighting him. 

“Illumi, what a pleasant surprise,” Silva said, and from what Hisoka could tell, he was totally genuine. Kikyo pulled away from her eldest son with one last loud kiss and stood in the doorway next to Silva. Her visor chirped. 

“Mother, father,” Illumi began very seriously, “This is my boyfriend, Hisoka Morow.” 

\--

Illumi could see Hisoka instantly redden, which was satisfying on its own. But, the shared expression on his parents’ faces was even better. It was hard to tell what Kikyo was thinking with her visor, which Illumi knew was purposeful, but Silva was doing enough with his face for the both of them. 

His brows knit together to form an anthill of concern in the center of his forehead. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then was interrupted by Hisoka extending a hand. 

“Nice to meet you.” Hisoka was still red, and Illumi could tell, in secret satisfaction that he was still very much reeling, but he was hiding it well. 

Kikyo glanced down at Hisoka’s hand. 

“We’ve met,” she said faintly. 

“Ah, yes, but I’m a new man,” Hisoka said. 

“Good to see you again, Hisoka,” Silva said, taking his hand and shaking it with what Illumi knew was a bone-breaking grip. 

“Now that’s over with,” Illumi said, moving to enter the house, “is dinner ready?” 

“Almost,” Kikyo trilled, recovering quickly. 

In the foyer, a painting dominated the furthest back wall. It was a family portrait and it was beautifully done, the lighting dim and dramatic, the faces of the Zoldyck’s pale and serene. 

Illumi looked young in the painting, around sixteen, but even so, he was taller than Kikyo and he towered over Milluki who stood beside him. Kikyo held toddler-Kalluto in her arms. Alluka and Killua held hands in front of her. 

Silva was the centerpiece, sitting in an overstuffed velvet chair, legs crossed, arms atop the armrests. His gaze was piercing, as if daring people to enter his home. 

Hisoka glanced at Silva in the flesh, and then at his painted counterpart. 

“That’s a nice portrait,” Hisoka said. Silva’s brows lowered which Hisoka took to be a pleased expression. 

“It turned out well. I would have liked to have done it when the children were older. Illumi became much more physically impressive at the latter end of his teen years. And I would have liked to see Killua a bit taller, but Kikyo insisted. She didn’t want to wait for her wrinkles to set in. Eight years later and her skin is still perfect.” Hisoka laughed politely, though he secretly agreed. 

Kikyo _did_ look very good. Maybe psychologically abusing your children kept you young. 

Illumi took a moment to stare at the house. 

“Where are the butlers?” It was empty, utterly empty. For a moment, Illumi felt overcome with sadness. Just five years ago, the mansion had been overrun with children. Illumi used to lock himself in his room and draw the curtains, savoring the silence like a melting hard candy. 

Now, it was as quiet as a mausoleum. 

“Oh, we cut back,” Kikyo said, falsely light. “The house needs less upkeep, and they kept getting underfoot. Silva, fetch the children. I’ll take the boys to the sitting room.” 

“I know my way around, mother,” Illumi said, faintly amused. 

“It’s rude to leave guests alone,” Kikyo said, “you know that.” She beckoned Hisoka with a gloved hand and led them to a formal sitting room with high ceilings and big, heavy drapes that shivered slightly upon their entrance. 

Illumi sat down on his favorite part of the couch. Hisoka sat a respectable three inches away, crossing his ankles neatly. Surprisingly well-behaved.

Kikyo snapped her fingers and a butler appeared with a tray of tea. The butler’s eyes widened at the sight of Illumi and her mouth moved, an almost involuntary reaction, but she said nothing, just set down the tray with well-trained care and melted into the darkness of the house once more. 

Hisoka plopped three sugars into his tea. 

Kikyo and Illumi took theirs just plain black. 

“You look very handsome, Illumi.” 

_You said that already,_ Illumi thought sourly. 

“I agree,” Hisoka chimed in. Kikyo glanced at him, surprised, and then smiled slowly. 

“It’s very relieving to hear that Illumi has found someone, you know. He was so focused on working… Silva and I worried that he would be alone forever!” 

“But we had an inkling about you two,” Silva said from the doorway of the formal sitting room. Milluki and Killua stood behind him, both looking rather sullen. 

Illumi dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. 

Milluki snorted at the sight of Hisoka, sitting beside him on the couch without hesitation. Killua curled up on the armchair by the fireplace, scowling when Kikyo scolded him about putting his feet up on the furniture. 

“Well, isn’t this nice?” Kikyo asked. Killua stared pointedly at the floor. Milluki had little indentations on his nose from his gaming glasses. 

“Is dinner almost ready?” Silva asked. 

“Should be soon,” Kikyo said. 

“So,” Milluki said, cheeks rounding with mischief. “How did you two meet?” 

“Hunter Exam,” Killua muttered. 

“It was before that, actually,” Hisoka said. 

“That’s not important,” Illumi interrupted. Kikyo smiled faintly again. 

“Dinner is probably ready now, off we go.” The Zoldycks and Hisoka moved in unison, flowing like a school of fish through the sitting room to the dining room, where indeed an impressive spread of food was waiting. 

A pair of butlers stood at either end of the room, arms held behind their backs, but Silva waved them away. 

“We can serve ourselves,” he said. 

“How industrious,” Illumi muttered. Killua cracked a smile. 

Silva took his seat at the head of the table, Killua on his right side and Kikyo on his left. Hisoka sat beside Killua and Milluki beside Kikyo, leaving Illumi with the seat opposite Silva. They stared at each other over a long expanse of mahogany. 

“Well, this looks delightful,” Hisoka said, breaking the silence. 

“Thank you, dear,” Kikyo said. Killua snatched a leg of ham before Milluki could claim it, snickering at his look of despair. 

“Killua, manners,” Silva rumbled. 

“Sorry,” Killua said, sounding very unrepentant. 

“Well, dig in,” Kikyo said. “This is a wild boar from our very own Kukuroo Mountain. It’s delightful if you don’t mind a gamey taste. And then there are a few cornish hens, just in case you aren’t a fan of pork--Milluki, vegetables, please--and then we have an array of roasted vegetables and a long-grain rice and some salmon pate over here which I know Killua adores.” 

Killua stuck his finger down his throat and made a gagging sound in disagreement. 

Kikyo droned on for another minute or so, until a butler brought out some wine for the table, and a martini for Kikyo. 

“Hisoka, do you drink?” 

“Sometimes,” Hisoka said vaguely. He wasn’t keen on getting drunk tonight of all nights. 

“Well, this is house wine, but don’t be deterred, it’s _excellent_. Right, Silva?” 

“Excellent,” Silva agreed, stabbing a flank of wild boar with his fork. 

“Here, have a glass and you’ll see what we mean.” Kikyo poured him a very full glass, smiling all the while. 

“Can I have some?” Killua asked. 

“No,” Kikyo said. 

“Illumi?” Kikyo asked, holding up the bottle. 

“I’ll have a martini, please.” 

“Vodka, right?” Kikyo asked, snapping her fingers for a butler. 

“Gin, please, dry, two olives.” 

“Oh, I was close!” Kikyo said with a laugh. Illumi smiled. 

“So, Hisoka,” Silva said, cleaning the side of his knife against the lip of his plate. The visual did not escape Hisoka. 

“What do you do for a living?” 

“I was a floor master at Heaven’s Arena for a time,” Hisoka said, “and when I grew bored, I infiltrated the Phantom Troupe for a time. You see, I was intending on fighting their leader, Chrollo--” 

“Lucilfer,” Silva finished with a smile. “My father and I fought him. He was not unimpressive.” 

“Dear, where is Zeno?” Kikyo whispered. 

As if on cue, the dining room doors parted to make way for a small, hunched-over elderly man. Hisoka regarded him the way a hiker would step in a wide arc to avoid a rattlesnake. 

“Illumi, you’ve gotten bigger,” he said, smiling. Illumi grinned in reply, taking Hisoka aback. 

“You’ve gotten smaller, grandpa.” 

“Ah, well,” Zeno said with a shrug. He pulled up a chair and sat down beside Milluki, peering at Milluki’s full plate with a raised eyebrow. 

“Spare your grandpa some wild boar?” 

“Zeno,” Kikyo scolded, “have your own plate. There’s no need to pick at your grandson’s food.” A butler promptly set down a plate. 

“So,” Zeno said, eyeing Hisoka with interest. “You’re the boyfriend, are you? You made a spectacle at the Hunter Exam, you know. Your name precedes you.” 

“I try,” Hisoka said, taking a small sip of the house wine. 

“You know, assassins ought to avoid celebrity,” Zeno continued. “But, I guess we aren’t setting a very good example. They were selling Zoldyck t-shirts down in town, can you believe that?” 

“We should speak to our licensing lawyer,” Kikyo muttered.

“No matter,” Zeno said with a wave of his hand. “Be good to my grandson,” he began. Illumi pinched his brow. 

“Zeno--” he began. 

“Don’t interrupt me, Illumi. Be good to my grandson and maybe find a job that’s more than just causing general mischief.”

“Yes, sir,” Hisoka said. 

“Good, well, I’m stuffed.” Zeno stood with a sigh. He patted Illumi’s head with a gnarled hand and then made his exit. 

Kikyo sighed. 

“ _No_ manners,” she said under her breath. There was a finickiness to her that reminded Hisoka intensely of Illumi. 

“Hisoka,” Silva said, voice rising in volume slightly. Hisoka raised an eyebrow. 

“Have you ever had a dog?” Illumi blinked in confusion. 

“Can’t say I have,” Hisoka said. 

“Well, let me give you some advice, in case you ever do.” Kikyo glanced at her husband uneasily. 

“One mistake people always make with raising a dog is giving the animal too much love.” Killua and Milluki shared a glance, as if they knew what was coming. 

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. It’s my dog, aren’t I supposed to love it? Of course you love it, of course, but a dog needs discipline, too; it needs boundaries and rules so that it can perform properly. When you give a dog too much love, you weaken your hand and the dog starts to forget those rules you spent so much time establishing. Then, suddenly, you’re giving it corrections every other moment and you and the dog are miserable. No one wants that, do they?” 

Kikyo laughed into her napkin and shook her head. 

“No. A dog is bred for a purpose, right? They are made to do a certain thing. To deny your dog that one thing is cruel. A herding dog must herd, a guard dog must guard, and so forth. Letting, say, a hunting dog, laze about on your couch like a pet is a disservice to him. Does that make sense?” Silva didn’t wait for a response this time. 

“Love ruins dogs. This was something I had to teach Illumi when he was helping me train Mike. Poor child just couldn’t wrap his head around it, could you?” 

“I got it eventually,” Illumi said flatly. 

“And you know the worst thing?” Silva asked, smiling now. “People _rescue_ dogs and they think, oh, it’s had a hard life, it deserves love. They overcorrect, they give it copious affection, too much gentleness, too much leeway, thinking they’re soothing old wounds. Meanwhile, the dog isn’t thinking about getting kicked down the stairs two years ago, he’s thinking, ‘this new person is weak and the head of the house is mine for the taking.’” 

When Silva finished, the table fell into an uneasy silence. Kikyo was still smiling into her napkin, clearly amused by the situation, entertained by the embarrassed pink of Hisoka’s cheeks and by the blank look on her son’s face. 

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get a dog,” Hisoka said, his voice uncharacteristically cold. 

“Good,” Silva replied, taking a bite of boar and chewing it thoughtfully. Hisoka dragged his gaze to Illumi, unsure exactly what he was expecting. 

Illumi looked as unbothered as ever, his chin propped on his palm. It seemed Silva’s heavy-handed and demeaning metaphor had not quite struck the chord he had intended it to. Or maybe, this was something Illumi had heard many times before. 

He hadn’t eaten much. His martini glass was empty. 

“Can I be excused?” Killua asked quietly, breaking the awkward silence that had been spreading like sheet ice. Silva’s hand tightened into a fist. 

“Yes,” Kikyo said, waving at him with her napkin 

Killua pushed in his chair, glanced once, hopeless, at Illumi, and then scampered off, his footsteps fading as he went up the stairs. 

A butler brought Illumi another martini. He drained this one as well. Hisoka nervously nursed his wine. 

“How does desert sound?” Kikyo asked, clapping her hands together. 

“And coffee, if you have it,” Hisoka said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Illumi stand and quietly excuse himself to the restroom. Kikyo watched Illumi leave with a wistful twist to her mouth. 

“I’m going to check on him,” Hisoka said with a winning smile. 

Milluki grabbed the wild boar’s other leg, making a triumphant sound as he did it, and bit into the leg with savage gusto. 

Hisoka found Illumi in a guest bathroom just off the hall. He knocked to be polite. 

“Hello?” 

“Go away,” Illumi said. 

“Are you doing anything to yourself that might be considered dangerous?” Hisoka asked through the crack in the door. 

“ _No_.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Hisoka sang, knocking harder on the door. 

“For fuck’s sake, Hisoka,” Illumi snarled, wrenching the door open and tugging him inside. 

“Close the door,” he added darkly, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet and tying his hair up. 

“What are you--oh,” Hisoka realized quietly. 

Illumi stuck two slender fingers down his throat and Hisoka watched with mild fascination as he vomited up at least half a dozen cocktails and some house wine. Illumi convulsed again and dry-heaved once, ensuring his stomach was empty, before he very primly flushed the toilet with his heel and washed his hands thoroughly. 

“I can’t have alcohol in my system when I try to kill them, but they would be suspicious if they noticed I wasn’t drinking,” Illumi explained. 

“Your parents suck,” Hisoka said mildly. Illumi snorted in amusement. 

“I know.” 

“And Killua looked okay,” Hisoka added, hesitant now. 

“I’m not concerned with what he _looks_ like.”

“Yes, but--” 

“But you’re right, he does,” Illumi admitted. 

“Though he seems very meek,” Hisoka added. 

“He’s always like that at home. Gon helped him come out of his shell a great deal.” Illumi took in a mouthful of water and then, to Hisoka’s horror, added a squirt of liquid hand soap. He swished it around in his mouth and spit it out, running his tongue over his teeth in satisfaction. 

“You’re something else,” Hisoka said quietly. Illumi looked at him through the mirror, head cocked, and then pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. 

His breath smelled of expensive lavender soap. 

“Into the fray,” he said, stepping out of the bathroom. 

* * *

Dinner concluded with a decadent dessert that Illumi didn’t have the stomach to finish. He picked at his food and tried not to picture Hisoka struggling pathetically in his father’s unbreakable grip, screaming his name desperately, gold eyes as wide as moons. 

Hisoka maintained a cordial conversation with Kikyo, though Illumi could tell neither of their hearts were in it. Milluki had left during their escape to the bathroom. 

He had been in the middle of a very imp

“Illumi,” Silva said suddenly, bracing both hands on the table, “let’s talk in private.” Silva cracked open the door to the balcony, beckoning him with a hand.

\--

“It’s funny, Illumi,” Silva mused, gazing proudly at the land beneath them. “I remember the exact moment we knew you couldn’t be heir.” Illumi felt his stomach curl in on itself, like someone getting beaten in the street.

“It had been a long day of training. You usually tried to wriggle out of training, but not that morning. It was strange. I first thought you were ill. Do you remember?” 

“I was eleven,” Illumi said, nodding his head. “I was fighting four butlers with my Nen.” 

“You had always been very good at using Nen, better than I was at that age. Anyway, you got knocked down by one of the butlers, some older bloke, and I was expecting you to cry as any child would. You were spitting up blood and gasping.” 

“I had broken my rib,” Illumi recalled. 

“That must have been it. Well, I said, ‘Illumi, look at me,’ which had been another thing we had been practicing: eye contact. You were awful at that. I said, ‘Illumi, look at me,’ expecting you to be crying, but your eyes were empty, just totally empty. For a second, I had thought you were concussed, but no. You had just broken under the pressure.” Silva sighed, drumming his fingers on the railing of the balcony. 

“And it was such a shame, Illumi. You’re such a specimen. You’re the strongest of the children by far and I expect you’ll stay that way. Even if Killua continues his trajectory, which is impressive, mind you, he won’t be quite as efficient, as good as you are at killing people. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t have a machine as an heir.” 

“No,” Illumi agreed. 

“And of course, there’s the matter of my heir producing _more_ heirs. Which, considering your… preferences, doesn’t seem possible. Though, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold it against you. Your mother and I have made peace with it. And as far as partners go, Hisoka is not--well, he’s not unimpressive, I’ll say that.” 

Illumi figured that now was not a good time to mention to his father that by those metrics, Killua might not be a suitable heir either, considering what he could tell about Killua’s relationship with Gon. 

“Yes,” Illumi said blankly. 

“So you know why you aren’t heir, then? Though, in all honesty, this relationship of yours, with Hisoka, redeems you a bit. Kikyo and I didn’t think you were capable. Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Illumi said again. A pin in the sleeve of his jacket shifted without permission. He felt sweat roll down his back in a hot bead. 

“And you’ve told him this?” Silva asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Well done, Illumi. There’s hope for you yet.” 

“How has Killua’s training been going,” Illumi asked, trying desperately to remain casual. Silva’s expression darkened into one of frustration. 

“Poor. That friend of his, Gon, is all he talks about. I think he softened Killua too much.” Illumi wondered, suddenly, violently, what he and Hisoka would have been like if they met each other at that age. 

Maybe he would have different eyes. 

“I think letting Killua explore would be good for him, so you could avoid the mistakes you made with me.” Silva smiled almost sadly. 

“No, I need to keep my heir close.” 

“He’ll wilt here.” 

“Then he ought to be stronger--Illumi, I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. Just a few months ago you were adamant about bringing him back, about cutting him off from that boy.” Illumi felt his fear give way to frustration. 

“I’ve changed my mind, father. I wasn’t--I was wrong, about all of it. I was a terrible brother! I was wrong!” Silva regarded Illumi with wary eyes. In breadth, he was far larger than Illumi but they were close to the same height. Perhaps this change, this signal of growth, had surprised Silva, because the look on his face was as if he had discovered something new and disturbing. 

“You think you could raise Killua better than I could?” 

“The bar is low,” Illumi said coolly. 

He felt the hand only a second after he saw it, a slap to the face so hard that his teeth knocked together and his skull groaned like the bellows of a giant ship. 

In the seconds after, he felt his cheek burn, no doubt bright red from the impact. 

“Don’t speak to me that way,” Silva hissed. “You’re lucky we invited you back to our home, after your fanciful few months gone rogue.” 

“Why do you think your house is empty, Silva? Where have all the children gone? Milluki is only here still because he hasn’t figured out a way to move his computer! Why do you insist--” 

“ _Illumi_ ,” Kikyo snapped, peering out from the french doors. Her visor beeped in disdain. 

It was now or never, really. Illumi could either kill his father now, when his attention was on Kikyo, when the soft of his abdomen was so exposed, so close, and his eyes, once points of terror, things that occupied Illumi’s nightmares like a stubborn specter, were now two shining targets, perfect homes for the tip of a pin. 

He could wait, possibly, delay the inevitable, put Hisoka and Killua and Milluki in danger, or he could simply do it. 

He used to have nightmares about it when he was young, accidentally killing his father during training with a needle and a bit of Nen he couldn't fully control. Somewhere along the way, the nightmares started turning into very pleasant dreams, dreams which had him waking up in painful relief. 

The action itself was simple: three pins protruding from his knuckles buried themselves into Silva’s stomach. His father doubled over, gasping more in surprise than anything else, and then two more pins were buried in each silver eye, pushed until the ball at the end of the pins met the resistance of Silva’s eyeball matter. 

He slumped over like any other victim, not even given the chance to be a puppet. 

Kikyo didn’t scream as it happened, but in the immediate aftermath, she trembled like a cat in the rain. 

“I’m your mother, ‘Loomi, and you're my eldest son, my most beautiful son, so perfect. You wouldn’t kill your mother, Illumi, not--” 

Kikyo was easier. It took one pin pushed upward from underneath the chin and she was crumpling like her husband, her visor screen shattering as she hit the ground. 

Illumi felt a laugh bubbling in his throat, but it wasn’t hysterical. At least, he didn’t think it was. 

It was a laugh of relief, of pure, cool-to-the-touch relief, the kind that Illumi had only really experienced from very expensive drugs or a long-awaited orgasm, or, embarrassingly, the sight of Hisoka sleeping soundly in bed next to him after a vicious nightmare. 

Illumi’s shoulders let go of twenty-four years worth of tension. His head tipped back and when he inhaled, he smelled his parent’s blood in the air. 

“Illumi?” Hisoka called. Smaller footsteps followed him, small and hesitant. 

“Oh,” Hisoka said, blinking in surprise. “Well, look at that. Illumi, you’re a star.” Killua gasped. Sparkles of electricity popped around him in a pathetic display, but Illumi hardly noticed. He threw himself onto his knees and grasped Killua’s head between his hands. 

“You’re okay?”

“What? Yeah--”

“You’re fine? You’re alright? Did they hurt you?” Illumi pawed through Killua’s clothes desperately, peeling back his eyelids, tilting his head this way and that, looking for anything. 

“You’re fine?” Illumi asked again, his eyes as wide as searchlights, hands trembling and slick with his father’s blood. 

“Yes, yes, for Christ’s-- _yes, Illumi_. I’m fine. Just bites and bruises.” And Killua finally smiled, grinning crookedly. 

“Was that your plan then? Pretend to come for dinner and then kill them when they had their guard down?” 

“I really did want them to meet my boyfriend,” Illumi said. Hisoka put his hands on his hips and preened just a little. 

“Zeno is still alive,” Killua added seriously, “and you just killed his son, Illumi. We need to--”

“Well, I’m glad I left dinner early.” Zeno’s voice was dry, arms held behind his back in that funny way of his. Hisoka produced a flush of cards, still smiling, but with the kind of intensity of a dog about to be let off the lead. Zeno glanced briefly at Kikyo and Silva and then properly at Illumi, ignoring Hisoka altogether. 

“Was this a grab for the title of heir?” 

“Take it,” Killua muttered. “No one else wants it.” 

“I wanted them dead,” Illumi said honestly. Zeno nodded. 

“Well, I could maybe hold you off if I put my back into it, but I don’t think I could handle your boyfriend, too, and he looks to be angling for a fight. Do with me what you will. I’ll be in the wine cellar.” Zeno waved a hand and started hobbling back downstairs. 

“Zeno,” Illumi called. Zeno turned and raised a single gray eyebrow. He didn't seem upset in the slightest, just faintly amused. 

Killua toed his mother’s corpse curiously. 

“If I do take over,” Illumi continued on cautiously, “you’ll let me?” 

“Oh, I encourage it. I’m too old and everyone in this family is crazy anyway. Do your worst, child.” Zeno descended down the stairs with a huffing laugh to himself. 

“I suppose we should call Gon,” Hisoka said, pulling out his phone. Killua’s eyes went wide. 

“He’s here?” 

“Illumi made him stay home.”

“Oh,” Killua said, sighing in relief, “that’s good.” 

“ _KILLUAAA!”_ Came Gon’s voice over the phone. Hisoka held it at a distance and then gingerly handed the phone over to Killua, who had to do much the same to tolerate Gon’s volume. 

“We’ll leave you to it,” Hisoka said, placing a hand on the small of Illumi’s back and guiding him away from his parents’ dead bodies, away from the blood, for once. 

“I want to go to their room,” Illumi said softly, taking Hisoka by the hand and leading him there. 

He wanted to see Silva’s empty couch, which he used to sit on while he lectured Illumi to tears. Illumi wanted to sit on it and maybe have sex on it and then burn it in a fire. 

* * *

The master bedroom was as frigid and palatial as Illumi remembered, though a bit smaller. Hisoka took one look and sniffed in displeasure. 

“That’s an awful color,” he said, gesturing to the dark gray bedspread. Illumi smoothed it out where he saw a wrinkle. 

The master bedroom was not so much a room, but a set of them, chambers, rather. In the nearest adjacent room was Silva’s “study”, where he kept weapons, where he disciplined his children. A menacing fire burned in the fireplace. 

Illumi sat down on the couch there and crossed his legs, thinking. 

“You totally look like an heir right now,” Hisoka said, miming snapping a photo with his hands. 

“Very imposing,” he continued, bobbing his head in agreement with himself. Illumi tilted his head back. The room smelled of his father: wintry things and the faint sweetness of the detergent they used. It was important for assassins to be traceless, and that included cologne and perfume, but natural scent couldn't be helped.

Hisoka had been such a mystery at first, his cotton-candy scent lingering in any room he left like a serial killer’s signature. 

“Are you satisfied now?” Hisoka asked finally, voice soft now, gentle. Illumi snorted into the air. 

“I’m relieved. I was already satisfied.” Illumi uncrossed his legs, felt his thighs widen in a slouch of relief. Hisoka took it as an invitation, because of course he did, settling in the space there between his knees. 

Hisoka traced a heart on Illumi’s thigh. 

“Satisfied with me?” He smiled prettily up at Illumi, hopeful but also knowing. Illumi glanced down at him, thinking now, of all the uncouth things they could do on this couch, to this couch, things he’d like Killua to stay downstairs for. 

“Yes, with you,” Illumi said, though he knew it needed no confirmation. Hisoka rested his cheek against the inside of Illumi’s knee, face smushed on one side. 

“This is your house now, right?” 

“I guess,” Illumi said with a shrug. He thought of his parents’ bodies downstairs, thought of what he would do with them. There was a Zoldyck grave on the mountain but the logistics were a nightmare. 

“Then, could I crash here for a few months? I’ll reimburse you for my stay.” Illumi glared down at Hisoka. 

“Was that supposed to be funny?” 

“It was a callback,” Hisoka said, indignant.

“It wasn’t funny,” Illumi insisted, smiling all the same. 

“You know, I’m just realizing, Killua still has my phone.” Hisoka frowned. Illumi blinked at him. 

“Well, do you have anything on there he shouldn’t see?” 

“It’s _my_ phone, Illumi, of course I do.” 

“Then get it back, Hisoka, do I have--” 

“Illumi!” Killua shouted, taking the stairs up two at a time by the sound of it. He burst into Silva’s study and then faltered, nose wrinkling at the sight of Hisoka on his knees in between Illumi’s legs. 

“Uh…” he began, scratching the back of his head nervously. “Could Gon come? Here? Could he come here and stay?” Illumi sighed, sinking into the couch. 

He just wanted some quiet, a quiet house, parentless and childless. 

“That’s fine,” Illumi said after a moment. “Just make sure both of you leave me alone.” Killua grinned, flashing perfect, white Zoldyck teeth and then threw himself back down the stairs, giggling into the phone. 

“He said you can come!” 

“ _I WAS ALREADY ON MY WAY!”_ Gon shouted on speaker. 

“You didn’t get your phone back,” Illumi noted, peering at Hisoka through a curtain of black hair. 

He was, Hisoka thought, the most perfect Zoldyck in existence, suit tailored to taper at his skinny ankles and his thin wrists, fabric as dark as the dark of his eyes and the dark of his hair. His cheeks were flushed, probably the after-murder glow, and his gaze sparkled with what Hisoka was starting to realize was joy. 

“What are you smiling about?” Illumi demanded, both of his neat eyebrows lowering into a harmless scowl. 

Hisoka shrugged. 

“I’m just glad you’re finally out of my apartment. God, Illumi, you really know how to overstay a welcome, don’t you?” Illumi’s lip stuck out. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” 

“You can pay me back in sexual favors.” 

“You weren’t serious, were you? I didn’t overstay--” Hisoka pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips and then smiled into it, teeth clacking against Illumi’s. 

“No, my love, you were a perfect guest.” 

* * *

In the months after Silva and Kikyo’s death, the Zoldyck family operation returned to its normal rate of ruthless efficiency. 

Zeno and Illumi became the new formidable duo, as it were, taking on only the biggest jobs together. Milluki was dragged out of his room for missions as well, and though he didn’t wholly abandon his obsession with any and all media, he got better about leaving his Nintendo at home when he went outside.

Kalluto scampered back to the estate for a few jobs whenever his savings account ran dry. 

Killua and Gon expressly stated they would not be participating in assassinations, but Illumi slid mission files under Killua’s door every now and then, and Killua would slip out at night to complete them, ‘for chocolate money’ he insisted, and so he could buy his friends presents. 

Hisoka was banned from tagging along on _any_ missions, after a disastrous job in which Zeno found his own grandson bending Hisoka over a kitchen counter with a dying target just a few feet away.

Illumi had been the one to instigate it, actually, but he had made a big show of scolding Hisoka in front of Zeno anyway. 

Life went on.

The estate didn’t change much in physicality. Hisoka tended to the peach trees that had once been Kikyo’s obsession and Illumi started letting Mike sleep inside in the winter. 

Perhaps the biggest difference was the painting in the foyer. The old one had been taken down, burned in a bonfire that had Gon and Killua dancing around it like cursed spirits. 

In its place was a new painting. Killua had snuck Gon in it, but he had put him in a neat little suit, identical to his own. 

Milluki stood behind them. Kalluto and Alluka had been placed on the other side, next to Hisoka, who, like Gon, had been stripped of his usual uniform and put in a more tasteful suit. His hair was still pink, however, and unlike everyone else in the painting, he was grinning, grinning so wide, in fact, that his eyes were slightly squinted, teeth bared like a delighted fox. His hand rested on the top of a very familiar overstuffed velvet chair, and sitting there, the picture of poise, was Illumi. 

He was in a black suit to match the rest of the family, legs folded neatly. His hair was straight and long and silky, framing his face in a way that would have been pretty on a woman, but was arresting on him. 

His posture was perfectly masculine, hands gripping the edge of the armrests, leaned back in the chair like an executive. A single black eyebrow was cocked just so. 

He was smiling too, but unlike Hisoka’s gleeful expression, it was a quiet, small smile, private and knowing, the smile of a son who had come into his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first multi-chapter fic and it feels so good to finish! knowing myself, i'll probably have new fics in the work soon, but for now, I'm just going to be focusing on the ones I've started. I had no plans on finishing this fic today, but I ended up writing all 6k-7k words of this chapter in one day and I was too impatient not to post it.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read this fic and to everyone who has commented! please know that no matter how late you read this story, comments are ALWAYS appreciated
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> P.S. this is my twitter, follow me! https://twitter.com/ohofcourses


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